Prussian Training
by DA4TheFunOfIt
Summary: Prussia trains America during the Revolutionary War. Based on real historical events. Now Hetalia canon thanks to Hima's Christmas 2011 strip! Dedicated to von Steuben: the Prussian Commander who taught American troops how to be AWESOME!
1. Prussian Training Prolouge: It Begins

_In 1777, during the American Revolutionary War, Prussian military commander, Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, arrived in the American colonies. He would eventually become a Major General of the continental army. However, von Steuben first service would be as the Inspector General to the American troops._

"So Prussia, thanks a lot for helping me out!"

Prussia looked over at the excited teenager coming towards him. So this was America? The colonies who had the guts to rebel against England. Prussia had heard of him, but had never met him until today.

At first, Prussia had not been that interested in America's war. Like all the other countries in Europe, he had thought the rebellion would be easily crushed by England in no time, but the war was lasting a lot longer than everyone had expected. Even though America was losing the war, he still refused to give up. Back home, Prussia had begun to enjoy hearing news about this guy's idiotic, but inspiring, determination. It had not been long before curiosity had gotten the better of the old Prussian. When he had heard that one of his own fighting men had decided to assist the American continental army in battle, Prussia had figured that he couldn't turn down the chance to check out the amusing new nation! So he had hitched a ride with his soldier.

Now, the two countries were getting a chance to talk alone as Prussia's man was meeting privately with the American commanders. Only a few moments ago, Prussia had finally been able to meet America face to face. The albino had almost been a little disappointed by the first encounter. The meeting had not been anything special. Just a quick, formal introduction. And America, it had turned out, wasn't much to look at, either. He seemed to be nothing more than an average, dirty, teenaged peasant. He was a little on the tall side, but other than that, the young American seemed harmless. The only thing distinguishing the boy from any other human to Prussia, was the vague sensation of kinship Prussia could feel coming from him. All personified nations had a kind of sixth sense which clued them in whenever they were near a fellow personification. Yet, even America's vibes had seemed dull.

But the experienced military nation had quickly reminded himself that he shouldn't be so swift to judge a book by its cover. This was the lad that was holding his own against England, after all. There was probably more to him than meets the eye. Still, America was obviously an amateur at defending himself as his own nation. Prussia was certain that would change soon. With his awesome, capable solider in control, it wouldn't be long before England wouldn't be able to stand a chance against his former colony.

"No problem," Prussia replied importantly; feeling prideful to think that the boy was already thanking him. "I'm always ready for a fight!"

The young man smiled back. Earlier, America had clearly been on his toes around Prussia and his man. He had been a very stiff and polite when greeting them. Prussia had been in a good mood at the time and had decided to see if he could catch the colonist off guard with a little "polite" act of his own. Now, America was obviously loosening up, probably thinking that the Prussian nation was a pretty nice guy, after all. Prussia had to grin at the kid's naiveté. Simpleton.

"Great!" America exclaimed, "That's at least one thing I'm not short on, here," he tried to joke.

Prussia quickly surveyed the camp America had been staying in. It was filthy, torn, depressing, and had soldiers that matched its style perfectly. Most of America's men looked tired, injured, hungry, or a mix of all three. Prussia looked back at America. He didn't look much different from his men. Yet, America was very cheerful for someone in his position. Prussia had to give the kid credit for keeping his spirits up.

"So I see," Prussia remarked as he studied the surroundings some more.

"I have to warn you, though," America continued, looking a little embarrassed, "most of my men are farmers, so I don't really know much about fighting."

Prussia smirked at this.

"Yes, well not everyone can be as _awesome_ as _I_ am in battle," he bragged to the newbie nation, "Just show me what you got, and I'll see what I can do."

"Really? Ok!" America seemed more than eager to learn from Prussia.

"Attention!" Prussia commanded.

America struggled a bit get himself together and stand at attention. When he was finished, Prussia put his hand on his own chin as he inspected the young soldier. He was taking mental notes.

_Hmm…a little sloppy, but we can work on that..._

He eyed America's torn clothes.

_He really should be wearing his proper uniform…_

America's eyes were starting to wander. Prussia made a note of that.

_His attention span could use some work too…_

His gaze moved to examine the rifle America held at his side.

_Wait, something's not right._

"Hey, where is your bayonet?" he asked America.

"My what now?" America appeared confused. Prussia figured he had just not been listening.

"Your Bayonet," he repeated with slight annoyance.

America still looked confused.

"You know!" Prussia persisted.

America shrugged. He stared at Prussia as if he was speaking a foreign language. Prussia was dumbfounded. Did this kid really have no idea what he was talking about? He sighed and tried wording his question differently.

"The long, pointy thing that goes at the end of your gun…"

"Oh yeah, that!" America lit up like a school kid who had finally mastered a difficult equation, "We don't really use those for fighting. We mostly use them to dig trenches."

Prussia was too stunned to say anything for a moment.

"You mean to tell me that you're using crucial weapons for nothing more than uprooting DIRT?" He finally shouted in disgust.

"Of course not!" America replied as if he was insulted, "I said _'mostly.'_"

Prussia felt a bit relieved…until America continued.

"They also make the _best_ backscratchers, and they're great for roasting marshmallows, and for picking teeth…"

America held his fingers out as he went down the list, while Prussia listened in shock. America was honestly acting like roasting marshmallows with his bayonet was the most normal thing in the world! Prussia found himself wondering, as he noticed the boy's sloppy appearance again, if America even cleaned the bayonet between its various "uses." As America went on talking, not taking notice of the older nation's bewilderment, Prussia slapped his forehead in frustration.

_No wonder he's losing this war!_

Prussia thought to himself. He was surprised that the teenager had made it _this_ far.

"Oh, by the way," America interrupted Prussia's thoughts, "did you bring anything to eat?" America good-naturedly put his arm on Prussia's shoulders, "I'm starving!"

Prussia felt his eye twitch.

"That's it!" Prussia exploded without warning. He roughly knocked America's arm off of him.

"Ow!" America rubbed his arm, "What was that for?"

"Silence!" Prussia cut the boy off. He began to throw orders at his new apprentice, "Attention! Stand up straight! Chest out! Suck in your gut. Heals together! Head up!"

America was trying his best to keep up with all the commands. He tried to ask Prussia to slow down once, but Prussia would not allow him to get one syllable out.

"Mouth closed!" Prussia had threatened America with a look of pure murderous intent when had seen America's lips part. America was afraid to oppose him. Prussia's commands went on:

"Hands to yourself! Ears open! And eyes on ME!" Prussia forcefully pointed to himself to illustrate his final command. He got in the boys face for added intimidation.

"Alright, listen up you little…little…"

America waited. Nothing happened. Prussia just stood there, with his finger frozen in place, scowling at him. Prussia looked as if he had wanted to say something, but had blanked out. As America continued to wait for Prussia to unfreeze, he noticed Prussia's eyes for the first time…they were red. Not red with anger. They were seriously red-like that was their actual color. RED! What kind of person has _red eyes_? That freaked out America more than anything else while he waited for whatever Prussia was struggling to say. After Prussia had stared at America for a few seconds, he finally turned away and threw up his hands with a loud exhale as if he had given up. America heard him grumbling something in German as he stomped a few feet away. America didn't know what was going on in this crazy guy's head, but he thought this might be a good opportunity to give him some "alone time." Unfortunately, as soon as America started to back away, the Prussian turned around and pointed his finger at him again in warning.

"Don't. Move."

America stood at attention once more. What else was he supposed to do? He watched Prussia look back and forth around the camp.

"You!" Prussia called out to a passing soldier, "Can you speak German?"

The poor soldier was taken off guard. He had no idea who Prussia was, but the albino sure did look and act like he was really important. On top of that, he also seemed extremely angry and impatient, so the soldier decided it would be best to submit to him.

"Uh…no. I-I can't," he hastily stammered, "But I think there's someone in the camp who can speak French."

America heard Prussia groan loudly as he put his hand on his face.

"Fine!" he spat out. "Go get him immediately, and bring him here! I need someone to translate curse words into English for me!"

America snickered loudly. Was _that_ why Prussia had frozen up?

Prussia glared daggers at America. America took the hint and held his breath to try to keep from laughing out loud. Prussia turned back to the man he had put on the spot.

"Why are _you_ still here? MOVE!"

The frightened man ran off the moment he had been dismissed.

"Lucky dog," America said under his breath as he enviously watched the soldier escape. Then he quickly straightened up when Prussia turned back to him. Prussia glared at America. America hoped Prussia had not heard him. Suddenly, Prussia smiled. (It was actually more of a sneer than a smile)

Prussia put his arms behind his back and calmly strolled up to America while grinning out of the side of his mouth. This was going to be fun.

"Now hear this!" Prussia began when he was in front of America, "From this moment on, you will no longer be 'America the Farmer.' Today, you begin your transformation into 'America the Warrior!'"

Prussia began to circle America as he spoke. America felt as if he was a wounded animal being surveyed by a vulture. He stood tall and tried not to let on that he was a little unnerved.

"It will not be easy," Prussia went on, "You will train night and day. You _will_ cry and beg me for mercy. You _will_ hate me. But when this war is all over, you _will_ thank me-and MEAN IT!"

He paused as he stood in front of America once again.

"Do you know why?"

America could only shake his head. Prussia smirked and leaned into America's face as he gave America the answer.

There was something about the way Prussia answered his own question that made America forget his hunger. He forgot his aching feet and his throbbing wounds. America couldn't really explain it, but there was just something about the way Prussia had spoken that last statement that made America feel…excited. He could feel his energy coming back. The red-eyed Prussian still made him kind of nervous, but America found himself actually looking forward to his training, no matter how challenging it might be. America now felt he couldn't wait to get back out in battle and take on the entire world for his freedom if he had too. What Prussia had said, was this:

"Because I am going to teach you…how to be AWESOME!"

* * *

Author's Note:

Dedicated to von Steuben: The Prussian Commander who taught American troops how to be AWESOME!

**EDIT: I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS NOW CANON! YAY! I changed the beginning up, just a little, so that it goes with the Hima's comic he did of this during the Christmas 2011 Event. **

Short History Lesson on VS:

Von Steuben did a lot to help out the troops in America during the Revolution. He created training regimens that would also teach the trainees how to instruct other troops in the ways of army awesomeness. He insisted that the troops wear their full uniforms in training and in battle. He wrote the "Revolutionary War Drill Manual" that became the STANDARD drill manual for the US until 1812!

He could not speak much English, but he could speak French, so he had French translators give out many of his orders. (He was famous for swearing and cursing at the troops in both French and German. Apparently he would often yell to his translator, "Here! Come swear for me!") Still, the men he trained really liked him. He had a presence that could really get the soldiers fired up.

He also taught the troops some lessons in camp (ahem) sanitation. Before he came along, conditions in the camps were pretty disgusting. I don't care to go into details. Just trust me…or look it up if you dare.

He is most famous for teaching the troops how to use the bayonets. Of course, us Americans thought that just shooting our guns would be good enough. The bayonets were being used as tools, shovels, and as skewers for roasting meat (or marshmallows ; ) ). But then Ol' Steuben came along and said, "Nein!" His bayonet training was so good, that we went into the Battle of Stony Point with NO AMO and we _still_ won!

Thanks Prussia, for sharing von Steuben with us!


	2. Playing Hooky

"OW, OW, OW, OW, _OW_!" America's painful complaints could be heard echoing all around Valley Forge, as he was forcibly dragged back to camp by his ear. "C-come on! OW!" the humiliated country finally lowered what pride he had left in order to plead with his tormentor. "Give me a break! AH! OW!"

America's superior was not moved by the pathetic attempt. Every sentence his young protégé uttered only made the older nation pinch and tug harder. "What have I told you about using your bayonet to roast marshmallows?" Prussia angrily repeated himself. It was the same question that he had surprised America with when the teenager had been found hiding out in the woods moments before.

"But it was only—OW!—_TWO_!" America argued.

Wrong answer.

Prussia instantly responded to the mouthing off by giving an extra hard pull on America's abused ear.

"OUCH! STOP IT!" America screeched.

Prussia just gave another hard, warning jerk. Oh, he wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon. The fuming Prussian continued to give firm tugs on the ear to make sure his struggling captive kept moving.

"OW, OW, OW!" America cried out. He could actually feel tears in his eyes. He couldn't help it! This treatment really HURT! So much, that America was seriously beginning to wonder why they had not reached camp yet. Their march seemed to be going on forever! Surly he had not wandered _this _far away from the camp! The teen nation really wanted to break away, or fight back, but both were impossible with Prussia having this kind of advantage over him. If America put up any more resistance than he already was, he was afraid he might lose his ear. And he liked that ear. So America was obliged to follow as Prussia stomped onward.

"How did you even—OW!—find me?" America demanded to know; understandably frustrated with the situation. He just couldn't understand how he had been found so easily. He had thought that he had made a total clean get away. America thought back to that morning and remembered how carful he had been. He had made sure no one was looking before making his secret escape, and he had not left any trail. He should have been able to enjoy a morning full of rest and relaxation, while everyone else should have been left to marvel at his amazing disappearing act.

It was during rare times like these when America wished he could be more like his brother. Canada had always _owned _games like hide and seek! Sometimes the lucky guy was never found….

But anyway, rewind back to the beginning of this cold day. Early that morning, the rebel-America had made a snap decision to skip his morning drills. It might have been the middle of winter; a time when the American and the English armies were pretty much taking a rest from the war, but that did not mean that America had been enjoying a vacation from harsh conditions and tough training. His army was exhausted from the beatings they had taken from England, and they were running low on supplies. Never the less, a New Inspector general from Prussia had recently been hired to train the American troops. For the past week or so, America had been doing some serious drilling under the professional man of war. Sure, America would agree that military drills were a good thing to do every now and then, but the perfectionistic expectations of the new guy were WAY more than what he was used to. But that was not the only thing that had been stressing America as of late. In addition to his new Inspector General, America also had to deal with insane personified homeland of the officer. The Great Prussia had come along with his man uninvited, and for some reason he thought that it was his sacred duty to make a "real man" out of America. This morning, feeling as if he could not take another minute of thorough military exercises or the special attention from Prussia, the American lad had quietly slipped out of the camp and retreated to a secret place in a nearby grouping of trees.

For a short while, America's plan had seemed to be working perfectly. He had been having a great time resting on a stump and roasting some tasty marshmallows over a roaring fire…when suddenly, that gloved hand of Prussia's had appeared from nowhere and seized him by the ear! It had been all downhill for America from there.

Now resigned to his fate, there was nothing else America could do but ask Prussia to end his tormenting curiosity and tell him how his location could have been discovered so soon. The younger nation couldn't see, but a wide grin had broken out on Prussia's face the moment the question had been asked. "Simple!" the white-haired Prussian declared with pride. "My awesome tracking skills! They can smell lazy from miles away!"

America felt like gagging. He was seriously getting tired of his trainer's constant boasting. The "awesome" quirk had not been a big deal for America at their first meeting, but it got really old, really fast. America just so happened to be a little braggy, himself. Now, the brash young nation had some actual competition in that department, and he discovered that he didn't always like it.

"Can't you give that a rest already? OW!"

"_Halt die klappe_!" Prussia commanded. "However, my innate _awesome_-ness aside, it's not like you didn't make it _too _easy for anyone to find your little hiding spot."

"Huh?" What was Prussia talking about now? America still believed that he had been as carful as possible. Where could he have gone so wrong?

It was at this point that Prussia finally released America. He halted the march and (not too gently) threw America to the ground. The younger nation quickly sat up and rubbed his throbbing ear. He was glad to be free, but he was certain that his poor ear would never be the same. However, he didn't have time to lament over the fate of his ear. Almost as soon as America had sat upright, Prussia began to approach him. America panicked when he noticed Prussia nearing and covered both ears in defense. The powerful country came to a stop in front of America and bent over to look the youth in the face.

"The next time you decide to ditch drills and hide out," he explained with a glare, "you might not want to build yourself a signal fire!" Prussia punctuated his sentence with a forceful point in the direction from which they had just come.

America nervously followed the finger to the sky above the woods. Rising from the tree tops, painfully noticeable to entire area, was a dark cloud of smoke. No doubt, it was coming from America's marshmallow-roasting fire which he had created for preparing his morning snack.

"Oh…."

Building a mini bonfire in the middle of a hiding spot…that had probably _not_ been one of his better ideas…but he had been _so COLD_! Even if America had not planned on roasting marshmallows, what exactly was he supposed to do out in the open air? Freeze to death?

America looked back at Prussia. The kingdom was standing erect now, glaring down at America with blazing red eyes. Arms crossed; he looked as if he was impatiently waiting to see if America had anything to say for himself.

America had nothing to offer. He was short one good excuse for his sneaky behavior, as well as one good explanation for his utter stupidity and epic failure to pull off his daring escape plan. Plus, he had just gotten caught red-handed doing something that Prussia had commanded him _vehemently _not to do any more. The colonial was in big trouble, and he knew it. There was nothing he could say to talk himself out of it…but maybe he could try getting Prussia to lighten up a little? Maybe if he could convince his instructor to find some humor in all of this, America might catch less heat from him. Of course, that would never fly, but America was a hopeless optimist. To him, it was worth a try.

America rubbed the back of his neck and gave Prussia a sheepish grin. "Heh, heh?"

Prussia exploded.

"Don't '_heh, heh_,' at me!" he shouted. "_Mein Gott_!" Prussia swore as he slapped a hand to his forehead (he had been going that a lot lately—especially when he spent time with America). "Did you really think you could get away with it?"

America huffed with annoyance. "It's not like a missed anything!" he shouted back in defense. "All we do are the same marches and musket thrusts over and over and over again!" While America talked, he moved his arms up and down at his sides as if he was marching and then pretended to jab an imaginary musket forward. As if that wasn't enough, he actually dared to mimic the predictable drill commands to further demonstrate his point: "Attention! To the right, face! To the left, face! To the right about, face! To the left about, face! Forward march! Step in time! Longer Strides! Step in time! Too long! Keep your feet closer together! Step in time! Step in time! Step! In! TIME!" America threw himself backwards on the ground as if just listening to his mock commands had tired him out. "I needed a morning off!" he pleaded. "I'm drilled out!"

Prussia growled. Yep, he legitimately _growled_. His snarling gaze shot to the musket that he had confiscated from America. Angrily, he took the marshmallows still impaled on the bayonet (one had been accidentally burnt, thanks to Prussia's surprise ear attack) and threw them across the field.

"I decide who rests and when!" he yelled, as he disposed of the sticky menaces that had been soiling his beautiful weapon of war.

America watched in despair when his marshmallows sailed over him and bounced on the ground far away. "Aw, man! Those were my last marshmallows!" he exclaimed without a giving a single thought to what Prussia had just said. He brightened up and shrugged it off almost immediately, though. "Eh, ten second rule." America pushed himself up, wanting to run to his snack's rescue, but something caught the end of his coat, making him trip before taking his first step. He looked back and saw that Prussia had stabbed the corner of his uniform into to the ground with the sharp bayonet.

"Forget the marshmallows!" he ordered through clenched teeth. "You're staying put!"

America groaned. One could safely say that the excitement over having experienced warriors to train him had _long_ worn off. In the beginning, America had felt pumped and somewhat inspired by Prussia's promises to make him great and awesome. Unfortunately, the road to "awesome" was turning out to be…well…not so awesome. The drills were boring and tedious. They weren't even combat drills. Practically all they had done so far was work on _marching_! And a type of marching that America and his men were not accustomed to, no less! The marchers had collapsed on each other like dominos more than once. It wasn't even always their fault! How could anyone expect America and his men to follow commands if their leader couldn't speak fluent English? America was starting to question the reasoning behind it all. Why should he continue to listen to a guy who only put him through stupid marching drills that don't seem to do anything except make him look like a fool?

"You're not my boss!" America exclaimed. "Your country's not even involved in this war! Why should I listen to you?"

"_Someone_ has to teach you discipline!" Prussia returned; pulling the bayonet-armed musket out of America's coat and pointing it directly in the boy's face. "And who better to do that than the awesome me? _Ja_, you're right; the Kingdom of Prussia is not participating in your stupid rebellion. I don't even have to be here! Which is why you should be _grateful_ that I decided to extend my stay! You should be thanking your lucky stars that I took pity on a sad slob like you!" Prussia paused here to tap the musket in his hand. "Just think of me as your very own _personal_ Inspector General," he said with a feral grin. "And as your trainer in the ways of Awesome, you _will _show me due respect!" With that, Prussia began to pace back and forth as he lectured America on things like "the chain of command," and how "everything would fall apart without adhering to it," and that it was "not his place to question the authority of his superiors," etc.

America rolled his eyes as he sat cross-legged on the ground and listened to Prussia's familiar rant. He had heard all this before. To America, Prussia was beginning to sound a lot like England…only with a different accent. America didn't like that. Prussia's officer wasn't much different from his nation, either. He preached the same type of sermons to the troops all the time. Actually, with the way Prussia and the Inspector General dressed and carried themselves, they both seemed to embody the European Imperialistic ways of thinking that America had been fighting against. The rebelling land didn't know how much longer he could let Prussia or his soldier tell him what to do.

America glanced over his shoulder as soon as he got a chance. He stared longingly at his discarded marshmallows. Below him, his stomach rumbled. He looked back at Prussia. Prussia was still blabbing away about things America didn't care to listen to. Carefully, America turned and began to crawl for the marshmallows. He figured that he could afford to take this risk while the Prussian was too busy ranting to notice. Sixty second rule, after all!

This might have seemed like a bad idea (no "seemed" about it, it _was_ a bad idea), but America didn't care. He was hungry for nourishment and sick of Prussia's voice. It wasn't too far back that the albino had been able to easily instill fear in America. Not so much anymore, though. A week ago, America would not have _dared_ to do _anything_ that he thought might carry the _slightest_ chance of provoking Prussia. After all, he had never met someone with a temper like Prussia's before. Nor had he ever come in contact with someone who just seemed to _radiate_ authority and power the way Prussia did. But now, Prussia's influence had almost no affect on America. This was because America had become more or less used to Prussia's explosive temper. The Prussian's wild threats no longer bothered him. America had not _quite _gotten used to the older nation's freaky red eyes (he still couldn't look Prussia in the eye most of the time), but he was working on that. America's growing indifference to Prussia's extreme personality, coupled together with his diminishing view of the Prussian drills, meant that America was getting braver with his disrespectful actions.

America was almost to his prizes. He could clearly see one of the marshmallows. When he was close enough, he slowly stretched out his hand to pick it up. That's when a cold shadow descended over America. America froze. He heard a dark voice speak behind him.

"Touch…the marshmallows…" it said, "and I swear, I will take this bayonet and shove it so far up your backside that you will be able to _taste _it."

America gulped. He had not been prepared for that. Prussia's yelling was one thing, but that quiet threat was just downright creepy! America carefully looked back. Prussia was glaring down on him like an angered god about to strike him with lightning. His eyes were almost glowing bright red in his darkened face.

"Heh, heh," America smiled apologetically as he shifted back to a sitting position. "Marshmallows? What marshmallows? Go on. I'm listening."

On his end of all this, Prussia was not pleased. He looked America over with a critical eye. He studied the blue eyed, sandy-blond haired, teenaged variety of "pain in the neck." Honestly, the military nation didn't know why he was wasting his time with America. Prussia had initially come along with his former soldier just for the fun of it. He had wanted to take the chance to meet the famous American colonies he had heard so much about in person. But he had ended up being so disgusted with the way America ran his army that he had taken it upon himself to train the little rookie. It was made even more clear to Prussia during the training that America knew absolutely NOTHING about how to fight a war, much less _win _one. And on top of America's aggravating inexperience, Prussia also had to deal with the younger one's ungrateful attitude. Prussia's new apprentice appeared to be more trouble than he was worth. Seriously, this was the LAST time Prussia was going to do a good deed for someone! (In reality, the decision to stay had been more out of an instinct to bring order to a pathetic army, than out of the goodness of Prussia's heart)

In all fairness, America had made _some_ progress. At least he was wearing his full and proper uniform now. Somehow, even with clothing supplies scarce, they had been able to scrounge up a suitable uniform for America. It wasn't much, but it was a real soldier's uniform. It was something the new nation could show off with pride. But did America care? NO! The runt complained and whined like a childish brat about having to wear the uncomfortable suit every single day! Well, tough toenails! Prussia was not one to give up so easily. If America resisted, he would just have to crack down harder. After all, Prussia had committed himself to passing on some of his wisdom to the youngster before returning to Europe. If he could pass on even a tiny _pinch _of his awesome-ness to America, the kid just might have a chance at standing up to that know-it-all British pansy! It was for America's own good (and for Prussia's own ego/amusement, when he thought of how England would react to a transformed American army, come spring time).

"_Gut_," Prussia grunted at last. "Now, there is another matter that needs to be addressed. I am still waiting for you to finish reorganizing the camp. That should have been taken care of yesterday!"

America's shoulders dropped. Prussia could sense another whiny complaint coming.

"What was wrong with the way the camp was before?"

"EVERYTHING!"

"Says you!" America snapped. "The camp was fine! No one else has a problem with it. I don't have time to spend all day turning it upside down just to please you and your snooty Baron! This is the army! We're supposed to be learning how to fight, not getting decorating tips. What kind of a leader are you?"

America was opening his mouth to say more, but Prussia had a pretty good guess about what he was going to say. He had heard it from America a million times already! He did not want to hear it again!

"Don't say it!" Prussia tried to stop him.

"Why should I care about where certain tents and buildings are located?"

And America said it.

"Or where I go to the bathroom? Or if my mattress has been aired out? Or if there's a dead animal lying somewhere in the camp? Why does any of that stuff matter?"

Prussia let out another low growl. Admitably, Prussia himself was not always the cleanest national personification on the globe, but thanks to his German blood, he did appreciate cleanliness. More importantly, he placed a high value on order—especially order in an army. The conditions of America's camps were simply unacceptable for him. The camps were a filthy and unorganized mess. The camp arrangement had no rhyme or reason to it, no soldier cleaned up after himself, dead animals were left to rot were they had fallen, and the men relieved themselves wherever they wanted. Even the inner workings of America's army were a careless disgrace. They did not, at the very _least_, keep good records of who was enlisted. Prussia felt that these grievances and more should have been unacceptable to anyone with half a brain!

Prussia took a deep breath and slowly approached America. He answered America's question with each intimidating step; slowly closing in on the blond. "Because filth breeds disease, because a sloppy atmosphere is bad for moral, because a disorganized army in camp is a disorganized army in battle." Prussia continued until he was crouched down and America was leaning as far back as he could without falling over. "Lastly," he hissed in America's face, "and most importantly, BECAUSE IT'S DESGUSTING AND I WILL NOT TOLLORATE IT!"

After delivering his ear-splitting words of wisdom, Prussia stood and smacked his forehead yet again. "_Gott in Himmel!_" Prussia raved. "I've never meet any soldier like you! Every other soldier in the world knows to obey their commanding officer without question! But YOU! You have the _audacity_ to demand to know _why _I give the commands I give! I shouldn't have to explain myself after every little order. Every Prussian, English, French, and even Austrian soldier knows that!" Almost nothing irritated Prussia more than America's "whys." The old nation was feeling like a frustrated parent who wanted to snap "Just because!" at their curious child, or even better: "Because I said so!"

America was twisting a finger into one of his ears, trying to open it up more in an attempt to improve his now damaged hearing. "Well that's just stupid," he grumbled.

If looks could kill, America would probably have been dead by that point.

Actually, deep down (deep, deep, deep, _deep_ down) Prussia did hold some secret form of admiration for America's refusal to follow anyone blindly. Hopefully it meant that the kid would not be easily led astray by the wrong men in command. But Prussia also knew that in excess, that kind of thinking was disastrous—and America most definitely overdid it on his questions. He questioned even the _simplest_ of commands. No army could function if the men wasted time questioning their superiors. A natural distrust of authority was also very bad for an army. All would fall apart! When it came down to it, Prussia was _not_about to let the grubby, American upstart insult his military intelligence and the way things had been done for generations!

"That's it! No lunch for you today!"

"WHAT?"

"_Schweig_!" Prussia demanded. "Instead, you will spend the afternoon cleaning and rearranging entire camp!" Prussia then listed a few details that needed special attention: "I want that horse carcass on the far side of camp gone, the ins and outs of _Every. Single. _Tent and hut scrubbed clean (after being properly sorted in their places), and remember to make sure the kitchens are uphill and the latrines downhill—"

"What latrines?" America cut in. He looked confused.

Prussia's grin returned. "The ones you are going to dig," he informed.

"But—"

"And NO using your bayonets as a shovel!" Prussia promptly added before America could voice his complaints. He held up America's musket and pointed to the bayonet at the tip. "If I catch you using this for _anything _other than skewering the enemy—"

America momentarily indulged in the pleasing fantasy of stabbing Prussia with his bayonet.

"—you _will _be sorry!"

To Prussia's shock, America snorted. "Oh yeah? _How _sorry?" the youth challenged; not believing that Prussia had the authority to do anything to him.

Prussia paused and glared at America. "_Very _sorry," was all he said.

America's eyes widened briefly. The vague, but powerful threat appeared to have affected him. But just as Prussia was feeling as if he had made his point, America seemed to vigorously shake off his alarm. America forced a smile up at Prussia, as if to say, "You're going to have to do better than that."

Prussia clenched his jaw tighter, if that was possible. How long was this idiot going to push him? This was not battle of control! It shouldn't be _any _kind of battle! The first threat should have been more than enough to scare America into submission! Why did America always feel the need to test his established boundaries?

Prussia grabbed America up by the front of his uniform. Holding him close to his face again, he took on America's challenge. He did better. "Let's put it this way: disobey another order, and I might just have to arrange for a certain insubordinate recruit to be flogged in front of the entire company as an example—and don't think I can't!"

America wavered. He was obviously trying to hold his own, but Prussia had to smile at the brief glimmer of genuine fear that he saw in America's eyes. About time, was all Prussia could think! That's right. The pup _should _be afraid! King Fritz might have outlawed corporal punishment in the army, but they were not in Prussia at the moment, were they?

America was grudgingly keeping silent now. He doubted that Prussia could do something like that to him, but the older nation was so deadly serious about it. America figured it wise to _not_try arguing that subject…just in case.

Satisfied with America's silence, Prussia threw his trainee back to the ground. "Get the camp in order!" he commanded. "I want it completed and spotless in time for afternoon drills!" As he spoke those words, Prussia also threw America's musket back at him (not pointed end first, of course). The impact the gun made with America's stomach almost knocked the wind out of him.

"But there's no way I can finish it that fast!" he spoke up.

"Stop interrupting me!" the albino shrieked. "When _I_ talk, _you_ should _shut up_! Now, address me in the way I taught you!"

America grunted and gave Prussia a dirty look. But regardless of how it annoyed him, America eventually lowered his head and mumbled, "Permission to speak…_sir_?"

Prussia smirked, evilly. "Permission denied."

"Hey!"

"I said 'permission DENIED!'" Prussia reiterated with a swing of his hand. Luckily, America ducked just in time to avoid being back-handed. Prussia was not used to this kind of behavior in a military atmosphere at all. Since when did instructing the troops become a two way conversation or a heated debate?

"And if I am not %100 satisfied with your performance in the afternoon drills," Prussia instructed, "you will be detained afterwards! We will go over the exercises again and again until you get them _right_! After drills, you will be on kitchen duty."

"_Again_?" America quietly grumbled.

"After super, you will report back to the training field."

"What for?"

"SHUT UP!" (What was so hard to grasp about that simple concept for America?) "What do you _think _for? For extra training! You think you had it bad with drills before? Well, as punishment for deserting your duties, this evening you will be put through the workout of your life!"

"By myself?" America asked with horror. To America, only enjoyable thing about doing drills with the new Prussian Inspector General was doing them in a large group. The men might have looked ridiculous tripping over each other as they tried to learn how to march in unison as an organized group, but at least they looked ridiculous_ together_. More men also made for more entertainment from their instructor. Used to the infamous discipline of the Prussian military, the officer would become enraged easily by America and the clumsiness of his men. His temper was just as bad as Prussia's; probably worse. The good Baron would throw impressive tantrums and curse the inadequate men up and down in German, French, and sometimes broken English. It was really quite the amusing show. America couldn't count how many times he and his other soldiers had collapsed into a tangled heap at the General's feet. And yet they still always ended up having a good laugh at both themselves and at the angry antics of their trainer.

"_Ja_," Prussia gladly confirmed, "it will be just you and me, kid."

"But that's not fair! No one else will be doing marching drills at night!"

"With the little vacation of this morning under your belt, you should be all rested up and ready for some serious training," Prussia smoothly replied. "If not, then too bad! Because I guarantee you there will be no breaks."

"But!"

"And no mercy, for that matter!"

From this point on, Prussia tried to ignore America and any other attempts the teenager would make to speak. Apparently, the former colony was not going to shut up, no matter how many times he was told. Clearly Prussia was only wasting time whenever he told America not to interrupt him. Prussia would just have to continue his speech without allowing America a chance to get in a word. Perhaps America would give up on his own.

"Um—"

But America didn't give up.

"You have no idea what I have in store for you," Prussia went on in spite of America, getting more irritated all the while, but trying not to show it.

"Hey—"

"When I'm done with you," Prussia said in his best intimidating voice, "you will be afraid to oversleep on your day off!" He was trying to scare America, but nothing he said seemed to work this time. America was not listening to a word. The dummy was also being relentless in his attempts to get noticed.

At last, America raised his hand and tried to speak above Prussia. "Uh, hey! Over here!" he shouted. "Question!"

"_WAS_?" Prussia finally lost it. He couldn't believe America! All he knew was that America's question had better be GOOD!

America put his hand down and spoke his mind. "When you said 'no breaks,' does that include _bathroom _breaks?"

…Prussia gawked at America.

"Cause I mean, that's going a little too far, don't you think?" America went on completely innocent of what Prussia was thinking.

Prussia's eye began to twitch again.

I'll say right now, I am not going to be the one washing my trousers if anything happens to them during training…."

That's about the time America realized that Prussia looked like a volcano ready to explode.

"Uh…"

"HAMILTON!"

America covered his ears. Prussia's scream traveled across the camp and quite possibly beyond. America would not have been surprised if England could hear it in occupied Philadelphia!

In a matter of seconds, a man arrived panting at Prussia's side. Poor guy. He acted as one of the Inspector General's translators. Even though Prussia could speak English more fluently than his man, he still often demanded a translator for himself. It was because there were times when America made him so mad, that he lost the ability to speak in any other language but his own native German. Using a translator made absolutely no sense, though. The translators could only translate French for the most part. Still, Prussia needed _someone _to reprimand America in a way the kid would understand when Prussia no longer made sense. The demand was unrealistic, but it was just something the translators had to get used to. Prussia had a tendency to be unrealistic, anyway. Hamilton and the others had to run back and forth between the General and Prussia all the time.

"Y-Yes…s-sir?" Hamilton puffed out when he reached the fuming kingdom.

Prussia snapped around and gave the man his new job.

"YELL AT HIM FOR ME! I'M GOING TO MY TENT!"

And with that, Prussia stalked away, leaving a very confused trainee and (also slightly frightened) translator in his wake.

Hamilton turned to America when he felt Prussia was out of earshot. "What did you do _this _time?" he asked wearily.

America stood up and brushed himself off. "I don't know. He's crazy."

Hamilton watched as America bent over to pick up something on the ground. Was that a…marshmallow? Hamilton watched curiously while America proceeded to brush off the gooey ball and pick stuff out of it. Hamilton gasped when America raised the newly "cleaned" marshmallow to his mouth.

"Are you really…?" he couldn't even finish the question.

America shrugged before popping the gross snack in his mouth.

"5 minute rule."

* * *

Author's notes:

The opening scene in this is based on some hilarious fan art that someone did for my original story. Find "Prussian Training" on my Deviantart page (located on my profile) and you will see a link to it in the artist's comments.

Very late, as usual. I blame my power outage this time.

Anyway, this was meant to be a little something to celebrate Von Steuben Day. I never meant to continue this story, but this idea has been bugging me lately, so I decided to go ahead and write it. I don't think it is as good as my original "Prussian Training," but oh well. It was fun. ^^

History Fun Facts:

A lot of officers in the American army were pretty jealous of VS when he first arrived. They did not think it was far that a stranger from Europe was getting a good position in the army instead of an American-born soldier. There was also a general distrust of Europeans among the men in the army. I'm sure the soldiers' first impressions of Steuben were not very nice. At first glance, he would have appeared to be a snooty, nicely groomed, fat, old, European imperialist, instead of the awesome army man that he really was. He was able to win the hearts of the men he trained fairly quickly, though. They thought his angry rants and cursings were hilarious. After a while, Steuben would over exaggerate his temper tantrums just to get a laugh out of the men. He also proved that he truly cared about their well-being.

VS did teach us military war tactics, but he had to start with the very basics. Before he came along, the only real drilling the troops had been practicing was musket handling and firing. (_Again _with the reliance on guns? Really Alfred?) VS started training with marching. He taught the American troops how to march much faster than British troops. The standard British pace was 60 steps per minute. Steuben started training the troops as 75 spm and slowly moved to 120 spm! He taught the troops how to march together in unison and how to change form on command. The men really did fall all over each other often during this training. They had never marched together like that before, but that was not the only reason for their mistakes. Sometimes they just misunderstood what VS was trying to say.

The state of the camp was pretty much the way this story describes it. It was disgusting and painfully unorganized. VS had his work cut out for him.

Here are a few funny quotes of VS's I found regarding the American army:

"With regard to their military discipline, I may safely say no such thing existed."

"If I still had the Prussian spirit, such a delay would exhaust my patience, but now I am so used to such negligence that very often I feel disposed to become negligent myself."

"The genius of this nation is not in the least to be compared with that of the Prussians or Austrians or French. You say to your soldier 'Do this,' and he does it. But here, I am obliged to say 'This is the reason why you ought to do that,' and then he does it."

VS did admire that "genius" of our nation. The American soldiers, for all their faults, were not robots that bowed to the every whim of their commanders. VS still demanded respect and discipline from the troops, only he did it without acting as if he was better than the trainees just because of his rank, and he encouraged other officers to act the same way. Steuben was strict and hot-tempered, but he was actually not as hard-core as Prussia was acting in this fic, at least not in Valley Forge. The soldiers of Valley Forge were in such a malnourished state, that Steuben only had 2 hour long drills a day. One in the morning and one at night. Punishments were only like an extra hour of drilling. He did not want to run the men ragged.

I imagine Prussia being way tougher on America, though. XD

Alexander Hamilton really was a translator for the great von Steuben, along with Benjamin Walker, Nathanael Greene, and a few others.

Oh yes, Old Fritz is King at this time. ^^

And yes, I do know that there were actually no marshmallows in this time period. It's just a funny idea I came up with because the soldiers used their bayonets to roast meat or any other food they could find.

I plan on doing at least 2-3 more parts to this with more info on von Steuben in them. There will be an actual confrontation between America and Prussia. It might take a while though, so I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for them. Sorry!


	3. Respite

Hamilton covered his mouth and tried to conceal a disgusted noise when America ate the dirty marshmallow. In a way, the man couldn't blame the starved teenager for eating food off the ground, but it was still sickening to see how low his country had sunk. He could only hope things wouldn't get any worse than this.

Unfortunately, Hamilton was not too successful in hiding his gag. America heard the muffled noise and looked up at him, curiously. "Wha?" he asked between smacks. "Chu wa' un?"

Hamilton paled. "Uh…." Though occupied with a marshmallow, America's mouth was not stuffed beyond comprehension, so Hamilton had understood the garbled question well enough. Still, he wasn't prepared to answer. He hadn't thought that America would offer him a marshmallow, as well. It was a nice gesture, but he was worried about the whereabouts of this new marshmallow.

While Hamilton hesitated, America swallowed most of his mouthful and began to scan the ground around them. "I think I've got another one around here somewhere…"

"N-No thank you," Hamilton quickly stammered. He was hungry, but not quite _that _hungry yet.

"You sure?" America asked innocently, while he looked around for his missing marshmallow. "'Cause you can have it if you want." Here, America paused to grin back at Hamilton. "You look like you could use it," he added with a good natured chuckle.

"No," Hamilton insisted. "That's not necessary. I…I just ate," he lied.

America wasn't really listening. He was crouched down, taking slow, carful steps. His eyes were searching the area intently. "It might be a little burnt…just to warn you," he mumbled. "But you can thank the 'Awesome' Baron von Kill-Joy for that. Ooh! Found it!" America snatched up the burnt marshmallow with his shout of triumph and rushed back to Hamilton. "Here ya go!"

Hamilton looked like he was about to panic. He took a few steps back with his hands up to refuse the gift. "No, no, really! I'm fine."

"Aw, come on," America insisted. "It's not so bad if you peel off the burnt parts. See?" America peeled back the dark, cracking outside layer of the marshmallow to prove it.

Hamilton nodded, but didn't change his mind. "I'll be alright. I assure you."

Surprisingly, America paused. He looked at the marshmallow, back to the man in front of him, and then back to the marshmallow again. He probably would have pushed the matter much further, had it not been for the fact that the marshmallow was looking _very_ tempting to his still-hungry self. "You _sure _you don't want it?" he asked hesitantly. He looked like he was torn between his desire to help his soldier, and his lust for the yummy treat. "Last chance," he offered one final time; half hoping the answer would be the same.

Hamilton nodded. "It's all yours," He replied dismissively; wanting to put America at ease about keeping the snack for himself.

America shrugged. He had tried. "Your loss," he said before gladly popping the second marshmallow in his mouth.

Hamilton sighed with relief when America gave into his greed and ate the marshmallow. That had been close. But neither he, nor America could stand at ease for long. The two were suddenly very rudely interrupted by a thickly accented cry in the distance.

"AND GET THAT GUNK CLEANED OFF YOUR BAYONET!"

The pair jumped at Prussia's last minute order. The surprise also caused America to choke on his marshmallow. Hamilton was immediately at his side, but his efforts to help were ignored by the annoyed teen. "Ugh!" America groaned, as he pounded his chest, trying to force the marshmallow down. "I hate him!"

"Mark me, kid!" Prussia's voice blasted out again without warning. The nation was still in the process of storming back to his quarters, but it seemed he had thought of a few final parting words to throw over his shoulder at America. "If this camp is not completely transformed when I return, I will be _severely _disappointed!"

"Oh no!" America whimpered sarcastically. "Anything but that! I wouldn't want to disappoint 'His Great _Awesomeness_.'"

"Sir!" Hamilton hissed, desperately trying to shut his country up. He checked on Prussia's position before he continued in a lowered tone. Hopefully, the Prussian's hearing was not as strong as his vocal abilities. "I understand how you feel, but you really should stop pushing your luck with _Herr _Prussia. He sounded serious."

America looked at Hamilton in surprise. "Don't tell me you're scared of him, too?"

Hamilton could only shrug. What could he say? Prussia inspired nothing, if not fear. The Baron's presence could be intimidating enough, but just the _subject _of the personified Prussian Kingdom could make any man in Valley Forge more than a little nervous. That was understandable. After all, no man in America had ever come face to face with a hardened nation like him, before. A few had met England in person, but that just wasn't quite the same. England, as the embodiment of the British Empire, might have been very commanding in his own way, but he was also very well composed…or at least he appeared to be in most public settings. When dealing with the colonists, England had been able to keep his actual anger just below the surface for the most part. And in battle, the island nation was powerful, yet dignified. By all outside appearances, England was a rational and gentlemanly sort of nation.

However, there was something more…_hardcore_ about Prussia. He might have been European, but he was so drastically different from England, he might as well have come from another planet. He seemed almost as if he had stepped out of some foreign, barbaric world that the American colonists couldn't begin to imagine. His unforgiving temper that threatened to snap at any moment would have everyone around him on edge. And his full-blown anger was far more animated than England's had ever been. Prussia stomped around like a prowling animal and gazed at each poor soul with the eyes of a beast that was ready to pounce the minute it noticed any sudden movement from its victims. He waved his arms around like a madman. He threw things. He kicked things. He knocked stuff over. He threatened to slaughter the lot of the men with his bare hands (and there was something about him that had every soldier convinced that he could and _would _do it, too) if they could not learn to follow simple instructions. One thing that truly unnerved the men, was what Prussia would do when he ran out of things to throw, kick, and/or knock over. He would take out a weapon as he corrected the troops and playfully fiddle with it, all the while grinning a psychotic grin that would make any person squirm.

If any man in America's army had been unfortunate enough to experience England's _true_ anger, he would have openly admitted that it was terrible, but yet, not _quite_ as upsetting as Prussia's. Even if England and Prussia happened to throw the exact same temper tantrum, Prussia's would still be regarded as the worst of the two. Why? Well, for one thing, no matter how infuriated the British Empire might get, at least he still _looked _like a normal person on the outside. Thanks to Prussia's unconventional outward appearance, he looked more like a troubled soul possessed by a devil. Like America, the rest of men in the Continental Army thought Prussia's white hair, pale complexion, and red—yes RED—eyes were downright creepy! Then, there was also the language of choice to take into consideration. Any colonial American could take a standard ranting in English. However, when Prussia yelled at them in German, it was like the crazed nation was literally calling a curse down upon them in some harsh, demented language.

Put all that together: Prussia's insane temper, his strange language, his unnatural looks, his in-charge attitude, and the fact that he was one of the almost god-like embodiments of a nation (an _ancient _one at that), and it's obvious that Prussia would be a supremely unnerving presence in America's camp. A few brave men could stand up to Prussia's man, but Prussia himself was a whole other kind of animal. Like America was doing now, a few cocky men had tried to stand up to Prussia in the beginning, but one look from the Awesome-that-was-Prussia usually set them straight. Yes, the albino was fierce, and in the weakened, ever-deteriorating state of the American army, the mighty Prussia appeared even more powerful and intimidating.

"I don't understand why you aren't," Hamilton said at last.

"Please!" America scoffed as he picked up his musket and attempted to shake off a few dead leafs that stuck to the bayonet. "He can't do anything to me," he boldly reasoned. "I mean, not _really_. So what if I annoy him? What's he going to do? Smite me with his 'Awesome?'" he went on sarcastically. (By now, it was clear shaking his bayonet wasn't going to do the trick, so America had started to manually pick the pieces foliage off his weapon.) America had spent more time with Prussia than anyone in the camp. After all that time, he hadn't been struck down by any other-worldly power yet, so he was feeling fairly secure in his attitude. Besides, it was just in America's nature to stand up to any power he thought was unfair. The teen couldn't go against his nature, no matter how threatening the enemy was. "He's just a lot of bark."

"You don't know that," Hamilton pleaded. As he spoke, he watched America's face knot in concentration while he now tried to rub the hardened marshmallow off the bayonet with his thumb. "What if you go too far and he snaps?" Hamilton spoke more seriously, trying to get America's full attention. Prussia did not look stable when angered. "Your very welfare could be at stake!" The man needed America to consider the possible consequences of his actions, for once.

"Dude, take it easy," America grunted, still not looking at his soldier. The young country was starting to get very annoyed that the marshmallow wasn't coming off easily. He starred resentfully at his bayonet for a moment, before his eyebrows suddenly raised and his mouth turned up with a stroke of inspiration. At last, he looked at Hamilton with a confident smile.

"I can handle myself," this, America said right before he turned back to his sticky bayonet and licked at the marshmallow cream covering it. Predictably, the young nation immediately gave a surprised "EH?" when his tongue stuck to the cold metal.

Hamilton sighed with misery as he watched his country struggle to pull his tongue off of his bayonet. He decided that any attempts to make America see the seriousness of his own situation with Prussia would be hopeless. "If you won't listen to him for your own benefit," Hamilton spoke wearily, "could you at least do it for mine?"

America momentarily stopped trying to dislodge his tongue and looked at Hamilton.

"I'm not certain I can keep up this pace," Hamilton explained with a tired smile. "Also, I would very much like to avoid being in the presence of that madman for as often as humanly possible."

As humorous as America looked at the moment with his gun stuck to the front of his face, a look of slight guilt could still be recognized in his eyes. America had not thought about the trouble his behavior could have been causing his men. Come to think of it, the translators _had_ been running around a lot lately, thanks to him pushing Prussia's buttons. And while America was disappointed in his soldiers for cowering to Prussia, he didn't want to force them to interact with the nation if they didn't have to. With the condition they were in (all from fighting a war for _his _sake) America figured he could indulge them in their fears. After all, Prussia wasn't their real enemy. And America certainly wasn't scared of the Prussian…well, mostly. He was at least brave enough to take on Prussia's abuse for the sake of his loyal troops. Maybe after some more time, his men would eventually see that there was nothing to be afraid of.

So, with one last painful tug, America freed his tongue from his weapon. Talk about _hurt_! That had been more painful than getting his ear yanked! He couldn't stop his eyes from watering a little. He winced and rubbed his tongue around the inside of his mouth before saying anything.

"Yeah whatever," he muttered, trying to act like he didn't really care about Hamilton's words. Inside, he still felt a little guilty. He didn't want his men to suffer, so he made up his mind that he would _try _to not to anger Prussia again.

With a sigh, America slung his musket over his shoulder. "Well," he announced after clearing his throat, "better get to work on those latrines."

Hamilton looked at him curiously. "We have Latrines?"

America shrugged. "Apparently we will soon," he grumbled as he turned to leave.

"HAMILTON!"

Before Hamilton could question America further, he found himself jumping again at the thunderous sound of his name.

"I believe I gave you an order!" Prussia's slowly fading voice called out. "I don't hear any yelling!"

Hamilton groaned loudly in exasperation. "I don't care what you are doing!" he yelled at America (the yelling was partly to appease Prussia, and partly to let his own frustrations out). "Just DO it, and do it NOW!"

America gave a mock salute as he strolled off. "You got it, substitute screecher."

* * *

"_VERDAMMT_!"

Prussia burst into his tent positively fuming! An Italian Greyhound, who had been dozing peacefully on Prussia's cot, perked up his ears at the intrusion. The dog's name was Azor. He belonged to von Steuben, who took his faithful pet with him everywhere. Azor became excited upon seeing Prussia and rushed to greet him. Unfortunately, the pampered pooch was slow to pick up on bad moods. He was about to learn that no one should get in the way of Prussia when he was on the warpath.

Prussia was just a few notches short of an angry bull at the moment. He made no acknowledgment of the dog, and practically plowed over the animal as he stomped further into the tent. Azor just barely managed to scramble to out of the way in time. Yet, even after this narrow escape, the poor dog remained undaunted. He was still caught up in his excitement over Prussia's return. With the past instantly forgotten, the dog scampered back to Prussia, who had now gotten into a furious pacing. Azor happily leaped up on Prussia, all filled up with unconditional, puppy-like love for the proud nation. Alas, Prussia was not in the mood to deal with the four-legged welcoming committee. It was not half a second after the dog jumped on Prussia, that he found himself tumbling to the ground from a violent kick.

"DOWN, DOG!" the albino's angry voice boomed, before he went at the dog for another kick. This time, however, the dog had taken the hint. Prussia's next kick missed by a mile. Despite the strong force of the first kick, the dog had not been stunned or lamed. He was actually able to find his feet again quite quickly. With surprising speed, the dog had bolted out of the tent with his tail between his legs before Prussia's second kick could be delivered. After that, Azor wisely decided to take shelter in some far away location until the storm in Prussia's tent passed.

Prussia grumbled to himself as he watched the dog disappear. Stupid dog! That mutt wasn't good for anything! Seriously! It never did any real work for its master like an awesome, loyal dog should. It never guarded anything, it never fetched any important items, and it never caught anything to eat. All the lazy pedigree did was eat what could have been rations for a starving soldier and sleep the winter away in the tent that Prussia and his man shared. In addition, and to Prussia's utter irritation, whenever the dog did leave the tent, he would hang around the albino. Prussia understood that the dog was looking for attention, since his master was often busy, but why did it have to attach its ugly hide to _him_? As far as Prussia was concerned, Azor was nothing but a lazy pest. If that dog had stuck around Prussia any longer a few moments ago, the nation probably would have killed the animal for his meat in a blind rage! At least then the pet would be put to some good use! That dumb dog was close to the most annoying thing on the planet!

_Close_ to it, but not quite the absolute, tip-top, most annoying thing. No, _that_honor belonged to America.

_Gott_, how Prussia _hated _that kid right now! The kingdom kicked some things around on the ground as he paced and stewed in his angry frame. He was convinced that England had spoiled America rotten. Prussia cursed again and overturned a table. He didn't understand why England was fighting so hard to keep America! Why didn't he just let the nuisance go and be rid of him? It's not like an idiotic landmass like him would amount to much anyway! So what if he was a part of the New World? In Prussia's mind, this whole "New World" craze was all overrated.

Prussia went on stomping, kicking, overturning, and swearing to his heart's content. So much so, that anyone near the noise decided to follow the dog's lead and steer clear of the tent for the sake of their own good health.

Back inside his tent, Prussia went as far as to take off his own hat and throw it on the ground. He gave the hat a swift kick for good measure, as well. The removal of the hat aroused Prussia's chick-like bird, who had been hiding underneath, safely nestled in Prussia's hair the whole time. Now that he was suddenly exposed to the cool winter air, the little bird rustled with protest in his white nest. But Prussia was so upset, he didn't even notice his awesome pet's discomfort. Gilbird (as he was affectionately called) didn't have to suffer long, though. The hat only remained on the ground a brief moment before Prussia returned to it, angrily brushed it off, fixed it back on his head, and continued his stomping rounds about the tent. Hey, he couldn't leave his awesome war hat on the filthy ground like that for long, could he?

For a good while, Prussia's tent was filled with the sounds of crashing, smashing, and very ungodly exclamations. Some of the men on the outside of the tent assumed that he was letting off steam. They figured he was choosing to take out his anger on inanimate objects, rather than on America. But they couldn't have been more wrong. Yes, it was true that Prussia did need to let loose some frustration in private. He did not want to become a spectacle for America's amusement, as he feared his Baron had. However, that was not the main reason for his retreat from the young nation. Prussia had not walked away to stop himself from attacking America. He had not removed himself from the source of his frustrations to cool off. He had left to _plan_. He needed time and privacy to plan the perfect, most awesome, ways to take vengeance on America. If Prussia had given into his instincts and let loose his full anger on America a few minutes ago, it would not have been nearly as sweet, or as rewarding, as it was going to be, now that he was taking time to seriously plan his next move. On any normal day for Prussia, there were many, many actions of his that he never thought through, but _this_ situation was different. America was…_special_. As of a few moments ago, America was now someone Prussia felt was worth taking the extra effort.

Prussia continued his rampage, even though deep down he knew it was unnecessary. There was no reason to get so worked up. He didn't have anything to worry about. There was no way America was going to be able to fulfill all of the demands he had just been given. The boy was already doomed. Prussia just had to relax and think up the best ways to punish him for failing at his assigned jobs.

Slowly and carefully, Prussia began to come up with up all sorts of wonderful little ideas for his apprentice. One of his first thoughts was that he could make America polish his boots. Oh, that would be such fun to watch America cleaning his awesome boots for him! But why stop there? Why not make the kid polish _everyone's_ shoes! Yes, that was good, but Prussia could do better. He could go much lower than that. What if he forced America to regularly clean out the latrines? That would be both an unreasonable and a disgustingly degrading job. It was perfect! And as long as Prussia was on the subject of cleaning, maybe he could also make America clean out the barracks using only an art paintbrush! Granted, Prussia would be hard-pressed to find a small paintbrush, since this army didn't keep a painter on hand, for some stupid reason. Apparently, they didn't see it as a "necessity," or something like that. What was wrong with these colonists? Of _course_ a painter was vital! How else was an army supposed to document their awesome battles and victories with impressive portraits? But painter or no painter, Prussia would be sure to find _something _small that he could force America to use as an inefficient cleaning tool.

Then there were always the drills. Drills were an easy way to punish any insubordinate soldier. Put a man through some extra hell in training and he would think twice before mouthing off! But just running the usual drills didn't seem enough this time. Prussia decided he needed to get creative with America somehow. Suddenly, Prussia was struck with a brilliant idea! He could make America run the drills naked! The kid was such a wimp when it came to the cold! It would be priceless to watch him freeze out there on the training field!

Prussia's evil grin expanded at just the thought of it! But after more careful thought, that idea was rejected. Striking that awesome plan was most regrettable to Prussia, but he had no choice. As fun as it sounded, making America strip for drills would defeat the strict rule of dressing in full uniform at all times. After everything Prussia had gone through to get America to wear his uniform daily, he didn't want to take a step backwards in that area.

Still, there were plenty of _other _things Prussia could do to America during drills that would make the kid sorry. He would have that little prat marching and stabbing until he was doing it in his sleep! It truly pleased Prussia to think that America might have nightmares about him after this. And if America wanted real war drills, Prussia could give him real war drills! Von Steuben might be going easy on America's men, but if America had enough energy to complain, then Prussia would just have to indulge him and put that energy to better use! Prussia could certainly supply the lippy American with the most brutal war drills ever devised!

He realized at that moment that he would eventually have to make America build his own obstacle course. Once that was completed, Prussia could force the teen to run it day and night. Until then, Prussia would have to make do with what he had (or rather, with what he didn't have). But that was no big deal. Even without an obstacle course, Prussia would have no problem making America wish he was dead! He could force America run until he passed out. He could make him do push-ups and pull-ups until his arms turned to noodles. He could make him crawl through the cold mud for hours.

Hey! Now _that_ was an idea! Crawling through freezing mud would satisfy the need to torture America with the weather, while still keeping to the uniform rule! Awesome! And after all, uniforms always get dirty in battles, so it would be more authentic. Plus, mud would also give Prussia another excuse to get angry at America! He could chew-out the kid for soiling his uniform! Maybe America would tear it. Even better! Prussia was already starting to compose the earful he would give America for the disgraceful appearance of his uniform. Never mind the fact that Prussia would be the one that would order America to roll in the mud, in the first place. In fact, Prussia _counted_ on America bringing that up in his defense. Then he could _really _punish him for the backtalk! Maybe he could make America do laundry for the whole camp! And make him do all the mending while he was at it! America might even turn out to be good at that. Prussia was sure that no colony of England's could declare independence before being forced to take a few needle point lessons.

All of this pacing and planning was making Prussia hungry. He took a break from the pacing and began to gather a few things for lunch. His anger began to come back as he rummaged through his things, trying to find _something_ worth eating. Prussia was sick of this camp! Did America think he _enjoyed_ spending his winter in a filthy, torn, discipline-less, disease-ridden, rat hole filled with ignorant back-woodsmen farmers who knew nothing about combat? Did America think he _enjoyed_ living with a disgusting lack of beer and meat? Oh sure. This was all a grand vacation for him! It was the _ideal _way to spend his time! It's not like he had anything better to do than rot in this "New World," while trying to pass on his ways of Awesome to an ungrateful, formerly-British brat!

Prussia decided this was as opportune a time as any to raid his private beer stash. While he searched for his hidden beer, his mind went back to thinking of ways to torture America. He remembered that he always had the threat of flogging to fall back on. And then America's idea of no bathroom breaks wasn't a bad one, actually…. Prussia grinned and chuckled when he finally located his secret canteen. He quickly opened it and took a grateful swig of the amber liquid inside. He sighed contentedly afterwards. He felt much better after only one drink of his beloved beer. Now he was ready to take care of lunch. He rushed outside to prepare his meal. He wanted to hurry through lunch so he could have another chance at America. He was anxious to beat America down until he understood who was boss! He would have no more lip from that kid! Prussia couldn't wait to get back out there with America. It was going to be awesome.

* * *

PLOP!

"This isn't fair," America grumbled to himself from inside his hole. He bitterly slammed his shovel back into the ground and dug up another chunk of dirt. "Why do _I _have to do all the hard work around here?" he muttered, tossing the dirt over his shoulder and out of the hole. The dirt landed with another "PLOP" in the large earth mound that had been accumulating outside the hole. America coughed a little before continuing on in the same way.

Even though America believed Prussia's new orders were unfair, he had still made the decision to at least _attempt_ completing them. It was all for Hamilton's sake, if for nothing else. After separating from his over-worked translator, the latrine construction process had gone something like this: At first, America had attacked the ground with all the anger he had built up on the way to the spot. See, it had taken a while to walk to the lowest point of the camp. From America's starting point, it was practically on the far-side of the camp. By the time he had reached Prussia's appointed place for the latrines, America had worked up a nasty attitude over his little situation. It was an attitude that he had chosen to express through tearing into the ground mercilessly. All through the first stage of construction, America had complained loudly about how Prussia was being a massive jerk. Prussia had given him that huge workload on _purpose_, knowing full well that he would not be able to complete it within the given timeframe!

Once that thought had been spoken aloud, things suddenly changed for America. Thinking of it like that made the orders seem more like a challenge, and America was not one to pass up a challenge. So he had decided the best way to handle this would be to beat the odds and do _exactly _what Prussia said! That would certainly surprise the red-eyed bully! His plan would fail, and America would come out the winner of the challenge! Plus, America figured that if he did everything perfectly, Prussia wouldn't have anything to nag him about. So the next phase began. America moved on from working in anger to working with the goal of winning a competition. Prussia's unfair commands became a race against time. It all became a test. America would show Prussia!

However, by present time, the sugar high from the marshmallows was wearing off. Fatigue was setting in. America's efforts were starting to lack, and his pace was starting to slow. By now, he had pretty much given up the idea of cleaning the entire camp. He had come to the conclusion that it would be better to just take his punishment, than to kill himself trying to complete his stupid cleaning mission. He was going to be working out with Prussia all night anyway. Why bother? It wasn't worth the extra energy. Still, America at _least _wanted to get the latrines done! There was no way he was so weak that he couldn't dig a few measly holes! Now, in this final stage of construction, America was merely working to save his pride. And so he continued working at a slow and steady pace, but he grumbled about it the entire time.

Taking a deep breath, America raised the shovel and stabbed the ground again. Why did he have to listen to Prussia and his dumb Baron, anyway? His body strained to dislodge the dirt, while his mind was elsewhere. He didn't leave England just so he could take orders from some other foreigner. He carefully lifted his full shovel and flung it behind him. They were stupid orders, too! They were only orders about cleaning, dress codes, marching, and keeping heavy, pointy things attached to the guns. What did all that have to do with fighting? It didn't make any sense! America took a moment to rest and stifle another cough. If things kept going like this, he was not sure if he would have a willing army anymore. Something would have to be done about it, eventually.

But that would have to wait. For now, America just wanted to finish the dumb latrines. America reluctantly lifted the shovel and jabbed it into the earth yet again. To his dismay, the shovel didn't go all the way in the ground this time. America groaned. He jumped and landed his feet on the edges of the shovel, trying to use his body weight to push it further down. The action didn't work well. The shovel stayed more or less in place. America ended up losing his balance and falling over when the shovel refused to sink. The blond took a hard landing. He remained on the bottom of his pit for a few moments, coughing for air. America had been fighting a scratchy throat for a while, now. He tried to convince himself that his current coughing bouts were nothing to worry about. It was the dust. He told himself that the dirt puffs in the air making him choke. That was all. But in the back of his mind, he knew that wasn't true. He had experienced some pretty nasty coughing fits, _outside _of dirt holes over the past few months.

When America's breath settled, he sat up and looked around the hole. He figured it was deep enough. He picked up the shovel and stood again. He inspected his work one more time and thought that maybe the hole could stand to be a little wider. He decided to bring it out more, just in case. After all, he had never dug a latrine before. He was making this all up as he went along. With his amateur judgment made, America held his shovel closer to the end and began chipping at the walls of the hole. He had imagined that expanding the hole would be easier than deepening it, but once again he was disappointed. He grumbled more under his breath when he realized that digging wider was almost as difficult as digging deeper.

"_Argh_! This was a stupid idea!" he concluded. How did Prussia expect him to dig a decent hole when the ground was frozen, anyway?

Yet, stubbornly, he kept at it. He had to finish the job. "Come on, Al," he grunted to himself. "This should be a piece of cake for you!" America's stomach rumbled and he instantly regretted bringing up food. "With your strength," he encouraged himself, ignoring his stomach, "you should be able to carve out deep trenches in the ground, no sweat!" Suddenly, he lost his balance again and fell back into the wall of the pit. He wanted to push himself up immediately, but his body was pleading for a rest. Annoyed, he knocked the back of his head against the wall and panted. "So…_why_ am I feeling so _exhausted_?" he asked himself with a pitiful moan. The only answer he could give himself was more coughing.

America just wasn't feeling like himself, lately. If an outsider had overheard his childish complaints about digging the latrines, anyone would have thought that he was a lazy teen who had never worked a day in his life. In reality, America was no stranger to hard work. Because many of his colonists lead agricultural lifestyles, America had grown up doing the rural chores of a country boy. He actually enjoyed doing hard labor most of the time. It was a good excuse for getting outside and getting dirty. He loved the slight work-out and the proud feeling of accomplishment he always got out of a job well done. The only kind of work America _really _hated was cleaning and doing paperwork.

No, America knew the ins and outs of hard, physical work quite well. The concept which was so foreign to America, was hard, physical work that was actually…_hard_. Literally, _hard_. Or at least, hard for _him_. It was not too long ago that America had been able to take pride in his natural ability to breeze through chores that would take a normal person all day to complete. That was another reason he had come to like outdoor work. It was a chance to show off his strength and bask in his very "manly" talents. What guy wouldn't enjoy that? But things were different now. The war had drastically cut down his physical strength. He wasn't Mr. Superman anymore when dealing with things like this, and it drove him crazy!

"Shouldn't have given up breakfast," he said; scooping up some earth he had managed to dislodge, and tossing it over his shoulder to join the rest. After a pause, he shook his head. "Nah. I take that back. It was for a good cause. And I don't really need it, anyway." After all, he was an independent nation now. A strong one too, despite his temporarily weakened muscles! He could handle going without a little nourishment for a while. It was nothing. Besides, breakfast had only been more firecake, and he was sick of firecake! _Blah_! Sometimes, like his commanders, America got to eat better because of his high status, but it just never felt right to him to eat good food when the majority of his men were eating little to nothing.

America stopped working and leaned on his shovel for a moment. Still…it would have been nice to have a full stomach to give him an energy boost. He hated all these short little breaks he was having to take just to keep from falling over! And it didn't help that he had gone without dinner the night before, either.

"At least I had those marshmallows," he mused. That was true. He would need all the strength he could get to finish all the work Prussia had made for him. With that, America went back to shoveling out the extra dirt around his feet. As he worked, he couldn't help dreaming of the end of the war. After the war was over, he could eat like a king! Maybe live like one too! He coughed again, but kept working.

"By this time next year," he dreamed out-loud, "I'll be sitting all nice and warm next to a fireplace…right after a big meal." He had to pause his mental image here to let out another cough. "A steak dinner!" he decided after his cough. "No, Turkey!" he changed his mind. "No! Steak, _and _turkey…and pork! (Cough! Cough!) With some chicken on the side." America missed eating meat just as much as Prussia did.

After a few more coughs, America resumed his daydreaming. "Where was I? Oh yeah! Sitting in a comfy chair, next to a roaring fire, sipping coffee—No!—Hot chocolate!" Once more, he had to put his fantasy on hold to cough. His coughs were getting worse, but he tried to suppress them and picked up right where he left off. "With lots (Cough!), and lots (Cough!), of…marshmallows." He barely finished before he lost control and went into another coughing fit. This time, it was harder to stop. His body wrenched, and he fell to his knees. He fought on the ground to get control of himself. Then, a few sneezes overtook him, as well. He couldn't stop. Desperately, he tried to muffle the noise in his coat. He hoped no one could hear him.

Disease was common in America's army. Smallpox, typhoid, pneumonia. Along with the pesky cold America had caught from the war, he also had to deal with the symptoms of the sicknesses many of his men were catching. Sometimes he felt like he had a bad flu or worse. As if that wasn't enough, America also had plenty of injuries to tend. His clothes concealed multiple sores; some, natural battle wounds, and others that represented the battles fought on his land. Even losing land was hurtful to America's body. The recent capture of Philadelphia had given him a particularly painful mark to sport. With illness, lack of nourishment, injuries, and loss of land, it was no wonder America's strength was lower than usual. All of this hardship was so new to him. When he was a kid, America never would have been able to imagine, not in _a million years_, what it felt like to be sick (like really, really, _really _sick), or to go without a meal, or to have painful gashes suddenly erupt on his body from violent battles and lands being forcibly taken from him. It was strange. It was kind of scary. He hated it!

Still, even though he hated all these new curses, he wasn't going to give up because of them. He tried to smile away his pain and hide his true condition as much as possible. He had gotten pretty good at it, too. If he had to cough around other people, he would hold it in, or make it sound as if he was only clearing his throat. Whenever the cough became too difficult to suppress, he would excuse himself and quickly find a private place to let it all out. America could not let anyone think that the war was getting him down! He especially did not want the news of his condition to get to England. More than anything, he did not want England to know that his body was succumbing to the war so easily. He wanted England to believe that his attacks were having no effect whatsoever. He could take whatever England could throw at him! He was his own nation now, right? He had to be able to stand on his own no matter what! He was not going to be brought down by the likes of England and be forever taunted by his former caretaker for it!

When America's breathing went back to semi-normal, he stood up on weak knees. He stomach growled again when his body shifted. America frowned and put a hand to his ailing abdomen. He probably hated the gnawing hunger more than any other wartime symptom his body was experiencing. America poked his head over the edge of his hole and surveyed the other ditches he had created. He quickly decided that what he had done was sufficient enough to serve as usable camp latrines. If Prussia didn't like them, too bad! The obnoxious freak could dig them himself! After checking to make sure no one was looking, America crawled out of the hole. It took way more effort than it should have to pull himself up from the pit. It was just embarrassing. It was cold outside of the hole, but America was feeling miserably hot. Great. That meant his fever had probably resurfaced. America felt like he had just wasted all his energy on making something the camp didn't really need. They had gotten along just fine without latrines before today. Yes, if this kept up, Prussia's officer would have to go. It would not take much to get him discharged, if the rumors America had recently heard were true. He smiled as he imagined not having to do those pointless drills anymore. Or listen to barking orders from someone he could hardly understand.

When America finally made it outside the hole, he collapsed on his back. He tried to take deep breaths, but that only made him cough some more. America lay still, taking smaller breaths, and trying to relax. The breeze felt nice on his fevered body. Knew he had to get up, but lying there felt so good! He looked up at the sun and realized that he had not been working as long as he had thought. Not much time seemed to have passed, and yet he had already dug the camp latrines single handedly. That thought gave him new faith in his strength. Ha! He still had some fire in him! Maybe there was hope to finish the rest of the camp, after all. America basked in his small victory. He was sure he had time for a few minutes of rest. Surely he had earned at least _that_ much. And surely it would not hurt to close his eyes just for a second….

* * *

Author's Notes:

I'm back! :D Hope this chapter was satisfactory enough for the time I made people wait to read it. So, nothing much happens in this chapter. We just kind of get a look at America's and Prussia's perspectives on all this. Next chapter will be more interesting, I think. And the next one after that, even more, I hope.

A few interesting historical notes:

Von Steuben really did have an Italian Greyhound named Azor that he took with him everywhere. We'll have more on him, later. ^^

I had to get creative with a certain legendary army disciplinary measure, since toothbrushes technically were not invented and in use during the Colonial America time period. (Oh sure, I can use marshmallows, but not toothbrushes. I guess I must have something against oral hygiene) Since I couldn't have America cleaning everything with a toothbrush, I substituted it for a paintbrush. I got the idea from that one episode of Hetalia where Prussia asks one of his soldiers to go get the painter so he can capture Austria's defeat for his own amusement.

Firecake was a common thing the army men would eat in Valley Forge. It's just a paste made from water and flour that was cooked like pancakes on hot rocks around fires. I imagine it was kind of like a bland cracker.

And of course, disease really was a problem in the camp, partly due to the preventable filthy living conditions that were eventually changed, thanks to von Steuben.

Well, that's it for now. And Happy Early Thanksgiving, by the way! Take some time this week to count your blessings and be thankful for what you have! Even in these less than ideal times, I know I still have a TON to be thankful for! Things could always be a lot worse, you know? At least I'm not as bad off as America in this chapter! ;)

Also, another big thanks to Emerald-Leaves for her input on this chapter! ^^


	4. Soup and Dreams

Prussia tossed his chopped potato into the water and stirred. He was sitting on a stool by a fire right outside his tent, a pot of warming soup hung over the flames. The soup wasn't anything fancy, but it was a hot meal. Its creator and amateur chef was just adding the final ingredients.

The Prussian had calmed down by now. His previous ranting and plotting had turned out to be quite therapeutic. It had been surprisingly calming to imagine all the torturous things he could do to America after lunch. Some of his evil fantasies couldn't actually be carried out in reality, but a nation could dream, couldn't he? Seriously, imagination really was a great outlet for frustration at times. It wasn't always as satisfying as the real deal, but it sure helped. For instance, Prussia had found it _particularly_ pleasing to imagine America as he had slowly _peeled_ and _chopped_ the potato for his soup. Onlookers had chosen to back away slowly, no questions asked, when they had seen the albino grinning wickedly at the helpless vegetable and "_Keseseseses_"- ing away whilst he prepared it for the boiling pot of water.

Oh the simple joys of home cooking. Prussia was just reaching for another small potato when he heard the sounds of someone approaching. His red eyes looked to the oncoming sounds and met with one sorry sight. It seemed the dog had slunk back. Azor was whimpering and approaching the fire apprehensively, his head was down, and his tail was between his skinny legs. He looked like he was taking caution, lest his master's country should still be angry.

Prussia groaned with disgust at the return of the useless pooch. He didn't know what his Baron saw in such an un-awesome pile of skin and bones. The nation was of the opinion that the dog's breed had been very fitly named. _Italian _Greyhound. The animal did often remind Prussia of Austria's young Italian lackey. Just thinking of that little maid caused Prussia to shake his head with more disgust. It really never ceased to amaze him that the weak, divided, little country of Italy had somehow caught the eye of his brother, the great and proud Holy Roman Empire . Well…alright, even Prussia had to admit that Italy was pretty cute for a weakling. Still, he would think that Holy Rome would have looked for a lot more than just beauty in a girl. But then again, Holy Rome was still young. Maybe it was just puppy love.

"_Mmm, mmm._"

Speaking of puppies…. The albino was brought out of his thoughts by Azor's whimpering. Prussia took another look at the pathetic creature, gave a powerful huff, and went back to his peeling. Dumb dog. Italy might have been cute, but it was too bad that _that _much couldn't be said of the Italian Greyhound currently shivering before the campfire. Prussia's Baron thought the dog was beautiful. Most likely the dog believed it, too. Personally, Prussia thought it was one of the ugliest dogs he had ever seen!

But the dog's appearance wasn't important. It was really the creature's attitude and actions that reminded Prussia so much of Italy (and also annoyed the very awesome out of him). The scrawny thing pranced around like a happy-go-lucky puppy most of the time. It took naps like no body's business, and it shook like a leaf whenever it was cold or scared. Azor's whimpers even _sounded_ like a frightened little Italian girl. The only good attribute the dog had to its name was its speed, but even so, the dog only ever used that awesome gift to _escape_ from danger. It was for all these reasons that Prussia just couldn't stand the beast!

In front of him, the dog gave another pathetic whine. Prussia shot a glare at it. He also couldn't figure out why the dog always chose to hang around _him_!

"Buzz off," Prussia growled, unkindly.

Azor flinched at the words, yet still, carefully inched forward. His eyes were very large and pleading, hoping for some grace from his master's beloved nation. Prussia rolled his own eyes. He might have been annoyed with the animal, but thanks to his current, more mellowed-out mood, he didn't really feel like chasing a dog off. Plus, he was loathed to admit it, but when the kingdom looked into those big, puppy-pouting eyes, he did feel a small smiting of guilt for taking out his anger on the dumb animal, earlier.

With one last hateful scowl, Prussia relented. Putting his potato on hold for the moment, he reached into his coat. He decided it would be easier to give the dog what it wanted then it would be to run it off. Maybe if he obliged Azor, he would leave him alone for a while. It was either that, or listen to it's stupid whining all through lunch. That was a sure way to ruin an appetite.

Before long, Prussia had pulled a little dried meat out of his coat. The dog perked up immediately, but didn't dare come any closer, just in case it was a trick, but still he shook with anticipation. He watched intensely as personification bit into the hard meat. After using his teeth to yank off a small piece, Prussia spit out the tiny morsel and tossed it to the hopeful mutt.

"There," he grunted.

The dog jumped, snatching the meat in mid air and proceeding to wolf it down, gratefully. Prussia snagged a quick bite of the jerky for himself, before returning it to his coat. Well, at least the dog wasn't as picky with food as the real Italy was.

After swallowing his treat, Azor seemed in much brighter spirits. He stood at his full height and wagged his tail happily. He looked back at Prussia with a perky expression. Prussia ignored the dog and concentrated on swallowing his own share of meat. Azor pranced a little in place for a moment, then, he submissively lowered his head, and walked towards the sitting Prussian. He was next to Prussia, rubbing his face on other's leg, before Prussia even realized that the dog had stalked its way over to him. The land frowned down at the animal when he realized what it was doing.

"_Ja, ja_," he muttered coolly, while simultaneously nudging Azor away with his knee and reaching back for the discarded potato. "Now get lost."

Undeterred by Prussia's words, the dog only snuggled it's head into the man's lap. Prussia pulled his upper body away from the cuddling, but found himself bitterly giving into the close contact when Azor quickly settled. The dog had sat down with a sigh and rested it's head comfortably on Prussia's lap. Prussia only responded by letting out a groan. He chose to let the dog be and returned to his potato pealing. At least the Azor wasn't pestering him for more treats or to play with him. Prussia figured he could put up with the mutt, as long as it didn't move.

Prussia liked dogs okay, but this one was just too pampered for his taste. Azor was no Gilbird. Now _that _bird was an awesome pet! If someone was going to have a pet, it should be awesome and loyal and fully dedicated to its master, like Gilbird was. The chick might have been lacking in size and power, but he had been with Prussia ever since the personified land was a child. Gilbird almost never left Prussia's side and always found ways to serve his master, from delivering messages, to pecking and pooping on enemies, to hiding outside of Austria's window and chirping out of key just to annoy the musician , the little birdie definitely tried his best to make up for all his shortcomings. He might have looked like a baby chick, but Gilbird had the spirit of the mightiest eagle, and his eager efforts always pleased Prussia.

Yes, Prussia's bird was very unlike the lazy, good-for-nothing, Azor. Prussia would be much more accepting of the strange-looking breed of dog if it would just put forth some awesome effort into making itself useful, like Gilbird did. Prussia could overlook any alleged handicap (inside, or outside) as long as the individual didn't let it hold them back from being the most awesome that they could be. After all, while growing up he had often had to deal with hateful scorns of superstitious and ignorant people because of his albinism. The ancient world had not been kind to those with birth defects, or any form of extreme physical uniqueness. But Prussia had never let being an albino stop him from proving himself to the world. He just really wished the sloth of a dog would go bother someone else for once.

…Maybe that could be another thing to add to his list of stuff for America to do. Prussia was suddenly inspired! He could order _America_ to take care of the dog! Why hadn't he thought of that before? America could feed it, clean up after it, and even give it a bath! Most importantly, America could keep Azor away from him! The grinning albino looked down at the relaxed greyhound on his lap. Prussia was starting to like the fact that the dog was around, now. There might be a good use for it after all.

Prussia made quick work of his potato and tossed its pieces into the pot. After which, he took another swig of beer. He had taken the bottle with him out of the tent and currently had it sitting at his side. He wasn't overindulging in the drink. He had only had a few gulps for his nerves. Even though he deserved _crates_ of beer for dealing with the likes of America! But he didn't have much in his private stash, so he needed to ration the valuable liquid, at least until things started looking up for the continental army…if they were ever going to. Besides, even if he wanted to let his hair down, it would take a _lot _more than one bottle to get his German-blooded self decently drunk.

After one last drink, the Prussian set his beer aside to finish preparing his soup. He decided he would save the rest of the bottle for later that evening. The cold weather would keep it fresh enough. As he stirred his concoction, Prussia pulled another item from his coat; a small piece of paper. He studied it in-between tending to the mostly-potato gruel. Since the first meeting with America, when Prussia had discovered that there was a slight language barrier when it came to certain expressions, the albino had been compiling a list of English curses for his own, personal homework. He still couldn't believe that he had blanked like that during his protégé's first training session. Worst of all, it had been a failure to recall a good insult that had crippled Prussia's first drill sergeant speech. It was shameful! He was a powerful military nation! That he would botch an impressive, and awesomely threatening, speech to the troops was more than unacceptable! He could just hear Austria: _"Hm, Funny. I'd have thought that profanities would have been the first thing you would have picked up from another language."_

Prussia growled just thinking about it. "Shut it, four eyes!" he mumbled automatically, and stirred his soup harder. It was really too easy to imagine that prissy aristocrat, sitting self-righteously in one of his elegant chairs, sipping a dainty cup of tea, while making snide remarks about Prussia's every little short-coming, in that almost polite, and oh-so-snobbish, tone of his.

Prussia had actually learned English long, long ago. At first, it had been just for simple communications. And over the years, the more he had had to deal with England— like during the recent Austrian War of Succession for example, when England had been both his enemy and ally— the more fluently Prussia had developed his English. Of course, he had learned a few choice English curses in the midst of all of his studying. And…admittedly, those swears had been some of the first English expressions he had learned…. But that wasn't anything to be ashamed of! Come on, how else was he supposed to send awesome communications with the right kind of emphasis on his demands? But anyway, that just made the fact that he had forgotten the words so soon all the more embarrassing!

He really needed to work on keeping up his foreign vocabulary when it wasn't regularly in use. The minds' of national personifications were certainly created to learn and retain new languages more easily than that of a natural human. A nation would have to be well versed in foreign tongues, since they would constantly be dealing with other nations. Still, for Prussia, his foreign language skills had always been on a kind of an "out of practice, out of mind" function. It was sometimes easy for him to forget aspects of a language, especially when he didn't use it often.

T here were so many other things that were so much more important than practicing a language he didn't immediately need. There was his military and important matters of state, there was also beer (lots of it), and then there was spending time with Fritz, and assisting the old man in making his country awesome. Of course, let's not forget feeding Gilbird, annoying Austria, and hiding from—er, taking evasive action and fortifying his defenses to withstand an attack from Hungary (that usually came directly after the preceding activity). Now _those_ were awesome activities worth his attention. Like he was going to spend his downtime studying something as boring as a language he already knew well enough to get by. No language was as awesome as German, anyway.

So far, Prussia had had to use Hamilton and other translators to translate French curses, but those just weren't natural, a nd they were not nearly effective enough. Normally, Prussia wouldn't care so much if he messed up with another language. He had always been the type to speak first and think about it later. Or just speak and never think about it. But this time, he was studying the words on his crumpled paper intently. He _had_to make sure he said them correctly. The nation had a bad feeling that his man didn't always get the words quite right. It seemed like the men he commanded were always giggling, or trying to hide giggles. Prussia didn't want to be a laughing stock for America in the same way that the Prussian Inspector General was for the American Troops. He wanted to curse at him in such a way that the boy wouldn't dare laugh, or even breathe!

_"If only you put as much effort into your people skills,"_ Austria's imaginary voice suddenly cut in again. _"Or perhaps into studying something worthwhile, such as the fine arts."_

"I said _shut up_!" Prussia shouted without even thinking. _Gott_, Austria made him so angry! It was bad enough that King Fritz was forcing him to take flute lessons! That was all the "culture" Prussia felt he needed!

At the sound of the new outburst, Azor lifted his head and hurried away from Prussia. The dog was afraid that the country might be yelling at him again, and he was in no hurry for another round of kicks. Prussia didn't even notice the dog's departure. He was too busy thinking about Austria. It was hard to believe that even that pansy of a nation could fight better than America. How sad was that? If only America knew what a sorry state he was in! That whelp would be _begging _Prussia for his wisdom!

Getting suddenly fed up with sitting around, Prussia checked on his dish's progress. He was no gourmet, but he guesstimated that the soup wouldn't be ready for a few more minutes. He slammed the lid on the pot and gazed out at the camp. He wondered how America was doing. The kingdom studied his source of heat. The fire was diminishing at a good rate. If he were to leave for a short while, the soup would be ready and probably still warm when he returned.

Prussia had worked himself up into a mood to get something done, so he returned his list to its place and gathered his things. He stood and walked back to his tent. Along with putting his things away, he also wanted to grab a few extra items before taking his leave. The camp lunch was not officially over, but Prussia had decided to pay a surprise inspection visit to America anyway.

* * *

As Prussia walked through the camp a few minutes later, he was not happy with what he saw. The camp was still in the exact same state it had been in before he had ordered America to change it. Honestly, he had not been expecting much, but he had been anticipating _some_ change. The nation's face twisted into a more furious expression with every step he took. When he found America, that kid was dead!

Soldiers loitering around cleared a path for Prussia. He was appearing extra fierce, and it wasn't just his angry strides or his "out-for-blood" expression that made the bold statement. The Prussian had dressed himself as if he were going into a battle. He had obviously wanted to make sure that America knew, the moment he saw him approaching, that he meant business. The proud coat and uniform had been straightened and smoothed in order to make the wearer look as important as possible. Not one shiny button was out of place.

But that wasn't all. Prussia's own musket was polished, prepped, loaded, and securely strapped on his back. (Bayonet attached, of course) Two loaded pistols and a large knife were also proudly displayed on the albino's person, along with an impressive sword. Last, but not least, a black crop, which he liked to use every now and then for drills, was hanging from his belt, swinging back and forth with the kingdom's ever quickening strides. The leather instrument was small, but Prussia found that when wielded correctly, it made a perfect statement of who was in charge. Just the sight of a crop in the hands of a capable soldier would clue any outsider as to who was the drill instructor and who were the unfortunate instructees.

Put it all together, and Prussia most certainly looked "awesome." Awesome and _fearsome_. The man was obviously on the prowl. He was an angered master searching for his apprentice who had been "a bit of a disappointment," to put it lightly.

When the red-eyed warrior couldn't find America right off, he began questioning anyone who was unlucky enough to come in contact with him. However, as nervous as the men were, none of them seemed willing to cooperate. They acted innocent enough of America's whereabouts, but Prussia figured out pretty quickly that his suspects knew more than they claimed. The men were just reluctant to turn in their own country. Cute, but Prussia was not interested in their stupid loyalty. He had a bone to pick with his un-awesome trainee, and he was going to get the information he wanted out of the soldiers one way or another!

At last, Prussia found a weaker victim, who had been willing to play the snitch, with the aid of some helpful "encouragement." Encouragement that involved a knife pointed at the man's gut, but one had to admit, the method made for a very convincing argument. Once pointed in the right direction, Prussia made his way to the low end of the camp. The man had confessed that he thought he had seen America there, earlier. Prussia walked at a determined pace. America had better have a good excuse for his laziness! Not that a good excuse would help him, though.

When Prussia reached a point of the terrain where the lower parts of the camp could be seen in full view, he was a little pleased to see that the latrines had been tended to. They weren't spaced out evenly or lined up in single file, but they would work. He was not pleased, however, to find America lying down on the job. The Prussian became even more displeased with the situation the closer he got to the lounging teen. At first Prussia got angrier because he thought America was ignoring his calls to pick his lazy carcass up and stand at attention, but as he closed in on the still form, he realized that his apprentice was sleeping.

_SLEEPING_? How _dare_ that kid disobey his orders so deliberately? The fact the America was snoozing infuriated the pale nation even more than the idea of being ignored. Not only was the colonial twerp not even _trying_ to complete his given jobs, but he actually had the gall to sleep right out in the open where he was sure to be caught! It was as if he was openly mocking Prussia! Oh, America was really in for it, now.

* * *

America was dreaming. A _perfect_ dream. He was dreaming of the furthest thing from army life. He was dreaming of a warm, soft bed, a bed in which he was comfortably sleeping. To a teen who hadn't slept in a real bed in months, the cushiony feeling of his dream-bed was like heaven. He might as well have been cuddling with a cloud.

Very quickly, it all morphed into a dream about everything he had been pining for before he had fallen asleep. He began dreaming of food. Food-a-plenty! All of it hot, all of it fresh, and all of it mouth-watering. He even had his tall glass of hot chocolate, abundant with fluffy marshmallows.

But all too soon, it came to an end. America's dreaming of the good life was interrupted by a trespasser. An evil shape appeared out of the dark corners of America's subconscious and grabbed the dark blonde by the back of his collar. America choked as he was yanked away from his glorious feast before he even had a chance to taste it. He was instantly dragged off to the darkness. Struggles were useless against the powerful specter. America gave a call of despair as his dream-meal swiftly faded into the distance. He had been so close! He had touched it! He had smelled it! Now, the things he had had his heart set on were becoming nothing more than a hazy memory.

Of course, the bad guy in America's dream was none other than Prussia. The nation's eyes were glowing an evil red, and his teeth were almost fang-like when he grinned. The vision of terror laughed maniacally as he made sure America was denied any sort happiness. Frankly, the scenario was all a little exaggerated, but in a dream, there just didn't seem to be anything illogical to America about an evil Prussia showing up out of nowhere to ruin his fun.

Then, all of a sudden, everything changed again. The dream shifted back to the first moment America had met Prussia. Because it was all a dream, the sleeping teen thought nothing of the switch in reality. Now, his men were introducing him to the Prussian man who was to be his new Inspector General. Prussia, the human form of the nation, had come along with the man, for some reason. America took a deep breath and tried to be as polite as he could. His knew it was important for him to make a good impression, and his leaders were expecting him treat his new commander with respect, but inside he was still weary. He had met very few European nations besides England, and he didn't exactly trust any of them. He had also heard warnings about the people of Prussia's area. As he beheld Prussia now, America couldn't tell what the Germanic country was thinking.

_"My name is…America,"_ the colonial spoke in forced courtesy, offering his hand to the paler nation. He felt a little strange addressing Prussia and his man this way. He wasn't dressed nearly as nice as they were, but he kept his head high as if he had nothing to be ashamed of. _"It's an honor to meet you."_

America waited as Prussia looked him up and down. Again, America wasn't sure how to interpret the expression on the kingdom's face, but then, Prussia suddenly smiled. America was taken off guard as his hand was clasped warmly by the other.

_"I'm Prussia!"_the man introduced himself with ease. America stood stiff as Prussia continued to shake his hand. During the handshake, America was also kindly warned by the European that he should take care and watch his strength since the training regiments were usually very harsh were he came from.

_"Um…okay."_America finally responded, uncertainly. He was thinking to himself how unexpectedly friendly that gesture had been. Was it possible that Prussia wasn't so bad after all? The feeling of the meeting reminded America of another first encounter of his: the first time he had met with Hesse.

See, England had hired Hessians, or German mercenaries, to fight against America. America had been told that the Hessians and their personified representative were ruthless. Hesse was said to be fearsome-looking soldier, with a large scar across his face. America was supposed to be more alert with the Hessians than he was with the English army, but that intelligence didn't seem to be the reality when the teen had had his own first battle with them.

Just a few months before this scene, America's General had launched a sneak attack on a group of the Hessians. But when America and his men had busted in on the unit, instead of the blonde's mental image of a cut-throat army, ready for anything, the German men he saw were all drunk from the Christmas celebrations of the night before. Even the infamous personification of Hesse, with his head still dopey from the alcohol, had only invited the invading American troops to join in on the fun. The whole incident had been very confusing for America. He had thought Hesse was supposed to be scary, but it had turned out that the guy was a real party animal.

Maybe Prussia would be the same. Maybe he would be nicer than the rumors said. America thought in his dream, just as he had thought in real life, that Prussia might actually turn out to be friendly. Suddenly, the dream turned into a nightmare again. The scene violently changed to one of the many training sessions that had followed not too long after that introduction. America found himself standing at attention while Prussia yelled in his face. The former colony was being aggressively informed that he was about to do another round of punishment push-ups.

_"Drop and give me a hundred!"_the dream-Prussia ordered.

_"B-But the inspector general only makes us do twenty!"_America desperately pled.

The commander took hold of America's shirt and yanked the teenager down a few inches so that they were both level. _"I'm not the inspector general and you're not a normal soldier!"_ he hissed in America's face. _"You should be able to do one hundred push-ups with both hands behind your back!"_

_"But, wouldn't I_ need_ my hands to—"_

"Schweig !" Prussia commanded; pushing America away. _"No excuses! No complaints! Now drop and give me two hundred!"_

_"But you just said—"_

_"The upgrade was for the back-talk! Want to make it three hundred?"_

America shut his mouth and dropped to the ground. Prussia stood close to him as he positioned himself for the push-ups. America was just in a hurry to get this over with.

SMACK!

The sudden noise echoed in America's dream-world. The young country squeaked as he felt a swift sting on his lower body. His stomach churned as he looked behind him and saw that Prussia had his crop out.

_"Straighten your form!"_the military nation commanded with a point of the crop.

America realized that in his haste, he hadn't set himself up quite right. His bottom was sticking up a little too high. The poor boy was still new to conducting push-ups according to strict army rules regulations. Apparently, there was a proper form involved in the simple exercise. After America adjusted himself; making sure his body was in a straight line from his head to his feet, he started. But Prussia's sharp voice instantly interrupted the progress and caused America's body jolt with surprise. The hardened nation told America to count as he went. At this point in time, and in the dream, America was still in his "This nut is terrifying, so just keep him happy and do whatever he says" stage. America was totally willing to go as far as counting his push-ups, in order oblige the savage Prussian. And so the torture began.

The push-ups weren't too hard at first. America breezed through the opening few with his reserve of super-strength. Prussia circled America as he worked. America could feel himself beginning to sweat, not from the work, but from being under his trainer's critical watch.

And nervous , he should have been. Prussia quickly noticed that the going was too easy for the blonde country. America was ordered to speed things up with another smack to his rear from the crop. The youngster picked up the pace. As the count slowly increased, so did the difficulty. Two-hundred push-ups should not have been impossible for someone like him, but again, the war had weakened his body. He pushed on hard, while Prussia continued to circle deliver more swat whenever he slowed down.

In his dream, America was not sure what he had done to deserve this. Maybe he had botched the marching steps again. Maybe he had forgotten to attach his bayonet to his gun, or had been caught doing something stupid with it again, like playing darts, or something. Maybe he hadn't been wearing his uniform. Or maybe he had just looked at Prussia the wrong way.

SMACK!

_"Faster!"_

The fierce order made America wince. Whatever he had done, he was in _big_ trouble for it. America sped up and tried to get his mind off of the pain by focusing on his counting. Unfortunately, that didn't work out well. He could hear himself counting in his dream, but the numbers weren't adding up. In classic dream-style, they were all coming out in a mixed-up, topsy-turvy order that made zero sense. The American wasn't sure how far he had gone or how much loner he had to go. He felt like he was stuck in an eternal loop. The exercise would never end!

America could feel his arms starting to shake. He shut his eyes in an attempt concentrate. He tried to pretend that his muscle aches didn't exist. He was eventually forced to focus primarily on his breathing. Despite the winter weather, the young country's body was heating up, and that was causing his chest to tighten. He wanted to hack his guts out so bad, but he couldn't risk halting his sets. Prussia would kill him if he stopped! Not to mention he would look like a total weakling. So instead, America tried breathing the way Prussia had taught him: long breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth. It subdued his coughs for the moment, but his chest still hurt. It was also uncomfortable because the cool air was harsh to his nose. America felt like the insides of his nose and his throat were going to freeze.

The breathing had another bad effect. Even though America was doing his best to keep going at the right speed, he began unconsciously slowing down to match his long breaths. His back was starting to bend with fatigue, as well. Without warning, a smack was felt on his slowly descending stomach. Prussia had gotten him with an underhanded whack from the crop. America gasped when it happened. He wanted to grab the forming welt on his belly out of instinct, but almost fell when he tried. Luckily, he caught himself just in time.

_"Line up your form!"_ he heard Prussia command. _"Stomach in! Back straight! And no slacking! Pick up the pace!"_The last part was punctured with another slap.

America grit his teeth as he tightened his muscles and brought his body back in a straight line. After a breath, he continued on at his former pace. This dream was different from America's past dreams of the pale menace. In other dreams, all of America's training had melted together. He would switch constantly from one training session to another; most of them, imagined events. But this one stayed in one place and America was sure that he had gone through it before. Maybe he was reliving this certain event because it was one of the first times he really started to resent Prussia and his "Awesome" training. Awesome. If America never heard that word again, it would be too soon.

As his muscles groaned in agony, America couldn't help asking himself _why_ he was listening to Prussia, again? Wasn't he in the process of trying to get _away_ from outside control? Hadn't he vowed that he was not going to submit to the rule of England or his unjust king anymore? Hadn't he declared independence and told England that there was no way he'd ever go back to being his colony? And yet, here he was, doing push-ups on demand and cowering before a different personification. Had America sold himself out to another European power? America tried to convince himself that he hadn't. He couldn't have, because Prussia hadn't officially thrown his hat into the ring of America's revolution, and the Kingdom of Prussia had never made any advances on trying to conquer him.

But even if Prussia wasn't interested in ruling over America, it was the principle of the thing! From the outside looking in, it would seem that the newly independent nation was submitting himself to another power, one that America thought wasn't always fair, or even _sane_ for that matter! On top of that, Prussia's training was tough. America had never been in a real army, so he didn't know what real training was like, but he still often felt like Prussia's methods were more difficult than they should be. And his training methods weren't helping, as far as the young colonial could tell. Sometimes America felt like a fool when he obeyed Prussia. He was sure England would laugh at him if he could see him now. That jerk would probably _roast_ America for sacrificing his ideals in this way. America could just hear England's laughter. …A little too clearly, actually.

While being careful not to break his rhythm, America glanced around the foggy area of his imagination. After a moment, he noticed something happening close by. The source of the laughter was taking shape right in front of him. What America saw, made him stop short. He momentarily paled in horror, as if the dream hadn't been humiliating enough, it seemed England had suddenly materialized and appeared on the scene to mock him.

_"What did I tell you?"_ his old guardian gloated, after his echoing laughs subsided. _"You can't face me on your own. You can't accomplish anything on your own. Just look at you! The moment you leave me, you run crying to someone else for help."_

America's look of shock turned into a glare. His cheeks heated with anger at the words of this unwelcome intruder. The young rebel hadn't seen his former "brother " in months. Their most recent interactions before the breakout of the war had been nothing but heated, and sometimes violent, arguments. Although England had taken care of America as a child, the events leading up to the colonial revolt had convinced America that the pompous nation had never really cared about him. It hurt more than America would admit to believe that, at the moment, when he saw England, all he saw was an enemy. The lad was going to say something to England, but a cry of pain escaped his open mouth before he could utter a word. Prussia had swatted him again with the crop.

The vision of England seemed to find more humor in that. _"Enjoying my replacement, are you?"_ the representative of the British Empire asked with a mocking smile. _"And you call_ me_ a tyrant? I don't remember ever treating you like this."_

America had gone back to his push-ups and was trying to ignore England. That didn't stop the illusion of the older blonde from goading his strained colony. He sounded like he was enjoying every minute of America's problems. But England would do more than ridicule America. After some time, an offer was made.

_"Why not end your suffering and come back to me?"_

The rising and falling teen almost came to another halt at the question. England's voice had suddenly changed to sickeningly fake tone of kindness. America wanted to break the Brit's jaw.

_"You'll find I can be graciously forgiving, if only you'll admit you were the one in the wrong,"_ the kingdom soothed in that patronizing voice. America hated the sounds of England trying to be tempting. To the rebellious colony, his perceived foe seemed almost like Satan himself. _"I can also assure you that your punishment for running off will be less severe, if you surrender willingly."_

America turned his head towards England. Once again, he was going give an "appropriate" reply to his red-clad oppressor, but another swift smack brought his attention back to his _other_ oppressor.

_"Faster! Keep your head on your work!"_

England smirked on the sidelines. _"It would be better than the alternative, wouldn't you agree?"_

America shot England a dirty look.

England smirked back all the more. _"You need me,"_ he stated simply. _"You always will. You can't deny it. You will have to come to terms with that, eventually. You will always need outside help to survive."_

America grunted at the image of England. He had no energy to tell the vision off, and couldn't afford to try with Prussia watching his every move, so he turned his head and tried to will his enemy not to be there. He focused on his exercises and irrational counting until England faded away; taking his scoffing and "I told you so's" with him. However, England's ideas didn't fade out as easily. It was those concerns that America had been wrestling with in real life. He had tried to tell himself that what he was doing didn't count as submitting himself to another kingdom because he hadn't really _asked_ the personification of Prussia for help. It's not like he had gone crawling to Prussia to be rescued from big, bad England. Prussia had offered to help. Well, not really "offered." It was more like a "You're-getting-my-help-and-you're-going-to-_like_-it!" kind of thing, but America was calling it offering, for now. He had to save as much pride as possible.

Still, America had been seeking out foreign generals. His scouts had sent Prussia's Baron to him. And he was asking for the aid of other nations, as well. France, most notably . The young land hated that he had to kiss up to France, or _anyone_ for help, really. It was slightly comforting to know that if France ever did join his side, it would be a big blow to England. Surely it would drive the British man crazy to hear that his former pet colony had allied himself with his most hated rival.

But no matter what rational he used, America still couldn't get England's laughter over his training with Prussia out of his mind. That wasn't really the case, was it? America knew that he could survive on his own, h-he was just getting a few pointers, right? He wasn't really embarrassing himself and going against everything he had been taking a stand for by training with Prussia, was he? That couldn't be right…could it?

SMACK! _"For the last time, don't bend your back like that!"_

Right or not, America could confidently say that it wasn't _fun._It took almost everything he had to straighten his back again. He hated doing push-ups with Prussia nit-picking his speed and form every few seconds!

SMACK!

And that crop was _not _helping!

"You call yourself a soldier? You couldn't even defeat a mouse with this kind of performance!"

America frowned at that. Well, at least he could now say that he had safely established the fact that Prussia was NOT a friendly person. The American felt that Prussia's insults were going a little too far. That last one really burned him up.

_"Bet I could squash a scrawny little white mouse with beady red eyes just fine."_He quickly mumbled to himself in-between his nonsensical numbers.

_"What was that?"_

_"Nothing."_

SMACK!

_"OW!"_

In his dream, America paused his push-ups to look back at Prussia. _"What was that for?"_

_"You stopped counting."_

_"You asked me a question!"_

SMACK!

_"OW!"_

The dream was so realistic. America could feel his body wavering. Every part of him was trembling as his arms struggled to hold up his own weight. America had been pushed so hard that it was a real fight to hold his shaky form together and keep it from crumbling under the stings of the crop.

_"Start over!"_the dream-Prussia demanded.

_"But—"_

_"Now!"_America heard Prussia flick the crop through the air to smack it against his own palm as a warning.

Unhappily, America resumed his self-torture; starting his count from the beginning. He was very sure that he was going to be doing this for the rest of time. But to his surprise, he wasn't able to go very far this time around. He couldn't have gone more than three push-ups before he felt a kick to his gut.

_"Ugh! W-what the—"_

_"Get up!"_Prussia suddenly changed his command. This time, the angry albino sounded different, for some reason.

_"But I thought you wanted me to do push-ups?"_

_"Hey!"_ the Prussian exclaimed. _"Get up!"_The order was repeated as Prussia continued to nudge America with his boot.

"All right, all right !"America yielded. He was annoyed with the strange behavior, but he couldn't say that he wasn't grateful to get off the ground and rest his arms. And maybe he would be ordered to do something that might better help him to get his mind off of England. The boy carefully rose and stood at attention; assumed that Prussia wanted him to.

But the weirdness didn't stop when America returned to his upright position. Prussia kept nudging and poking him. _"I said get up!"_he would say.

America, thoroughly confused, could only back away and try to guard himself, but the prodding only became harder _"I_ am_ up!"_America told the insane trainer. _"Cut that out!"_

_"_Wach auf_, you lazy runt!"_

_"Huh?"_

* * *

"Hey!" Prussia yelled, while he nudged America with his boot. "You hear me, kid? I said wake up!"

* * *

Author's Note:

2 fics in one day, WOOT! XD Sorry again that this took so long, but it might make it up a little to know that I'll be putting up the next chapter soon after this one! Originally, both chapters were going to be one, but I ended up rambling again, and had to split them. ^^; The next part is almost done, and then my _fabulous_ beta reader is going to look it over, and it will be up for your viewing pleasure. Not much happens in this chapter, I'm sorry to say, but the next one gets a little more interesting, I hope.

Ok, notes on this chapter. First of all, I have no idea if Von Steuben's dog really acted like that, I just got the impression that he was very pampered from what little I've read on him, so I went with that.

And the part about America remembering meeting the Hessians is based on the official comics about the same story. (wish I could put up links)

Those comics are based on that famous time when George Washington crossed the Delaware and executed a sneak attack on a Hessian camp. IMPORTANT: Just so everyone knows, the thing about the Hessians being drunk from their Christmas celebrations is a MYTH! At the time of the attack, a few American soldiers believed that their enemies would be drunk or hung-over, because they had heard tell that Germans drank a lot over the Christmas holidays. But after the attack, no evidence of alcohol was found on them. They were dazed from the sudden attack, but that was it.

Still, the popular legend and the comic was pretty funny, so I decided to keep it. Just remember it's not historically accurate.

And the dream is based on the comic Hima made about Prussia training America during the last Christmas event.

I loved that it looked like Prussia was smacking America in the comic with a crop, so I had a little fun with that. And just in case you don't know, Prussia's love affair with the crop was thought up by arkham-insanity _long_ before Hima put it in his comic. I'd check out her "Chibi Prussia Diaries" on Deviantart for more about the crop. XD

AND I changed the first chapter of my fic just a little to better go along with that comic about their first meeting, so there's continuity. Yay! So now you have an excuse to read the first chapter over again.

One last thing, a BIG thanks to Emerald-Leaves for beta reading this for me and giving me advise! You rock! ^^


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